God Save the King! How Thomas Met His Destiny
by Arsinoe de Blassenville
Summary: COMPLETE Alternate universeSibling rivalry and the burning desire for a red coat help Thomas Martin find a way to save the family farm and achieve his own ambitions. Chapter 17: 11 Years Later, The War of '93. How time has dealt with Thomas and Tavington.
1. Dreaming of Destiny

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"GOD SAVE THE KING!"-- HOW THOMAS MARTIN FOUND HIS DESTINY

This story is alternative history. For those of you unfamiliar with the work of writers like Harry Turtledove, alternative history finds a turning point, and develops the "what ifs" of human events. The film _The Patriot_ implies that its hero, Ben Martin, pretty much won the Revolutionary War for the Patriots. But what if he never joined the militia? I sought out a critical moment, and changed an event. Everything flows from there!

I also used some characters from my other long Tavington fic, _Et In Arcadia Ego_. Those of you who haven't read that one should still be able to follow the story just fine. Those who have may enjoy the alternate timeline and experiences I devise for my creations.

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1. Dreaming of Destiny

The trunk in their father's room was the supreme mystery in the Martin children's lives. Gabriel, who had once explored it completely while Father was visiting a neighboring plantation, tantalized his younger brothers and sisters with whispers about 'Father's Uniform,' 'Father's Weapons,' and 'Father's Meritorious Service in the War.' Gabriel was the eldest, and in the opinion of Thomas, the second child, entirely too full of himself.

A new war was coming, and Gabriel, quoting Colonel Burwell's views as if they were his own, told them that South Carolinians must stand for freedom, that taxation without representation was tyranny, and that it was time for the New World to cast off the shackles of the Old.

Abigail, their housekeeper, who had been a slave, actually worn shackles, and been bought from a tyrant of a master and later freed, smiled gently and shook her head at Gabriel's passionate new politics. The younger children simply accepted his words for deepest wisdom.

Thomas heard only the word "War." He had always wanted to be a soldier; and not even because of Father. From his first memories, he had loved toy soldiers—even tried to swallow them a few times, said Gabriel---but that was when he was _very _young. Now Gabriel was talking about being a soldier, and it made Thomas sick with jealousy.

He had tried to tell Gabriel how he felt, up in their room one night. The house was quiet but for the crickets, and the distant hooting of an owl. "I always thought _I_ would be the soldier," he said. "You're the eldest—you're Father's heir, and you'll inherit Freshwater someday. _You _should be the one to stay home with Father, and learn all you can about tobacco and corn, and when to breed the horses. It's not fair."

"Fair has nothing to do with it, Thomas,' Gabriel said impatiently, distracted from reading Mr Paine's pamphlet. "I'm not fighting because I want to be a soldier. I'm fighting because I believe in the just cause of independence. It's my duty to support it. It's not like I'm choosing a new career. When the war is over, I _will _come home, and I _will_ learn from Father. I just have to do this first." He saw Thomas was still resentful, and tried to smooth things over with a smirk. "The war may last longer than anyone thinks. You might find yourself taking orders from me yet. "

Thomas fumed silently, promising himself, he would never, ever address his brother as 'Sir.' A better vision flashed before him--

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Thomas, in scarlet regimentals, glowed with the fire of a martyr; and cried, "For England and Saint George!" The soldiers all roared out, "God Save the King!" The old recruiting sergeant had tears in eyes. "Bless you, laddie! His Majesty will never find a better, braver young officer" He wiped his honest eyes, and the other soldiers stood by, marveling at the scene.

Then Gabriel laughed, which brought Thomas back to reality with a disagreeable thump. "You're only a child. Maybe you'll decide you'd rather go into the law or the Church. Maybe you'll want to go into trade with Mr Howard. He's always looking for a likely young clerk."

"Clerk yourself," muttered Thomas. "I thought _you_ wanted to be Mr Howard's partner. No, wait-- that's his daughter Anne, the one with all the teeth---_that's_ the one you want to partner!"

Gabriel reached out quickly and clouted him over the ear—just hard enough to hurt. "Mind how you talk about Miss Howard."

"Oooh, Gabriel!" cooed Thomas in a squeaky falsetto, showing all his teeth. Gabriel got up, furious, and Thomas prudently ducked toward the door.

"I'll talk to Father about the Army," he declared.

"Go ahead," Gabriel answered indifferently, sitting down again at their table. "He won't be any help. I've never been able to get him to talk about his service in the war, and neither will you." He returned to reading, ignoring Thomas until the next day.

Gabriel was irritatingly right about Father. Thomas chose what he thought would be a favorable moment; when he had done an exemplary job with his chores, and had earned a word of approbation. Walking back to the house, he began to ask (in what he fondly imagined was a subtle way) what war was like. He was rewarded with a tortured glare and a sharp order to exercise Tobias and Piper, their riding horses. So a direct approach was no good.

When the assembly met in Charlestown, just before the war broke out, Thomas tried to talk to Colonel Burwell alone about Father, and about his own ambitions. Colonel Burwell was a good friend of Father's and must know all about Father's service in the War; but the colonel was too busy with politics and organizing troops to do more than give Thomas a kind, dismissive smile, and confirmation that "Captain Martin was a brave soldier, and did his duty." Thomas could tell that Colonel Burwell was disappointed that Father was not joining the Continentals. Thomas himself was disappointed that Father never called himself by his rank of Captain, as a retired captain was entitled. 'Captain Martin' had dash and distinction: 'Mister Martin' had neither.

When they were there in Charlestown, Gabriel stopped talking about it, and actually joined the Continentals. They went back to Freshwater without him, and sure enough, it was Thomas who would stay home, plant the fields, and herd the beasts. It was sickening. Father was worrying about Gabriel. Thomas could see it. It was "Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel," just as it always had been, and Gabriel wasn't even _there_. And it wasn't like the Continentals were a real army. Some of them wore a kind of blue uniform, somewhat like the French, but it just did not have the panache of scarlet. Thomas' toy soldiers were all in scarlet. It was the proper colour for a proper soldier's uniform.

Father was gone one day, and Thomas slipped out of his room, taking a candle from the table beside him. He went into Father's room, ignoring the feeling of dread. A true soldier was daring, and faced danger 'even in the cannon's mouth.' He could surely face sneaking into his father's room.

The trunk was large, and Thomas took a deep breath before opening it. Inside were treasures beyond belief.

Father's uniform was there, still brightly scarlet, and splendid with gold lace. On top of it lay an Indian hatchet, inscribed with Father's name.

Thomas was impressed. He suddenly had a glimpse of Father—not just as Father, the kind and strict man who taught them to read and hunt and fish, who put the little ones to bed at night and soothed their childish troubles—but as a young man who was not yet Father, a bold stranger who had killed men in fierce battle, a stranger in a red coat facing danger, even in the cannon's mouth. Thomas had for the first time imagined his Father as a separate human being, and it frightened and awed him a little.

Still, it would be foolish to have risked coming into the room to go through Father's things and not do the chief thing he had planned. Carefully lifting the uniform coat from the trunk, he slipped it on, fitting his arms into the too-large sleeves. He looked at himself in the mirror.

A stranger in a soldier's scarlet coat looked back. The face was a little too young, and the coat a little too big, but he could see the soldier he would be, all the same.

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Thomas Martin, King's Ranger, led his band of Cherokee scouts on their most dangerous mission yet. He had earned his warrior's name of White Eagle in a dozen single combats, and was the most renowned tracker and woodsman in the entire British Army. He paused thoughtfully, his young brow furrowed with wisdom and experience beyond his years---

'What are you doing?" Father's voice startled him. Father was standing in the doorway, looking at him gravely. He walked over to Thomas and said, "Turn around."

All too soon, Thomas shed his borrowed glories, as Father quietly slipped the jacket from his shoulders. Without it, Thomas felt smaller, a boy again, and he braced himself to endure Father's anger.

Father, it seemed, was not angry, but serious. "Not yet, Thomas," he said.

Thomas, not to be put off, asked, "When?"

Father thought a moment, and then suggested, "Seventeen?" It was more a question than a statement, as if Father were trying to make a bargain Thomas could keep.

"That's two years!" Thomas objected. "It's already been two. The war could be over by then!"

"God willing!" Father muttered fervently.

Seeing further concessions were unlikely, Thomas said, "All right, seventeen." It was the best deal he could strike with Father, under the circumstances. They shook hands gravely, sealing the agreement. Thomas felt a great burden lifted. He had won his main point. Father now accepted that he would be a soldier. Gabriel had read a poem to them all once, that ended with the line, "They also serve who only stand and wait." Thomas understood it at last.

Father was turning away, and on impulse, Thomas again asked the question always on his mind. "Father—what happened at Fort Wilderness?"

Father's expression, as he stood motionless in the doorway, was unreadable. He only gave a nod toward Thomas, holding the axe.

"Put it away."

Thomas tried to be satisfied with the bargain he had made, but he was not satisfied. He had seen his future in the mirror, and it could not come too soon.

It came sooner than he had hoped. The British, being professionals, had taken Charlestown and were moving up the Santee. One night, Thomas heard thunder, but there was not a cloud in the sky. He knew somehow that he was hearing the sound of distant cannonfire. Soldiers were coming. He had brought a pair of muskets out onto the porch, where the family was standing, watching the distant flashes. Father sharply told him to put the weapons back in the house.

Thomas tried to point out that they might need to defend themselves, but Father would brook no arguments. "Must I tell you again?" he said, in the tone Thomas knew too well to disobey.

Father then said, "Let's all stay close to the house tonight."

It was a long night. Nathan terrified the little ones at supper, promising them horrors. Thomas concentrated on painting some new lead soldiers he had recently added to his collection. He now had enough to make a complete recreation of the Battle of Blenheim.

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The slender, elegant, young lieutenant had taken command when all the other officers were killed. Calm and resourceful, his example had inspired the men, and he had maneuvered them effortlessly into line. The enemy ranks were almost upon them—they were overwhelmingly outnumbered, but Lieutenant Thomas Martin knew he would triumph, as he always had. "Make ready!" he shouted, in a deep, manly voice. Attired in a perfectly tailored uniform of almost lethal good taste, he held his sword, unwavering, waiting for the critical moment. He could see the fear in the eyes of his enemies. They were hesitating—and Thomas' sword dropped relentlessly with his clarion command of "Fire!" The thunder of the volley shook the ground; the smoke cleared, and showed the enemy utterly overthrown.

Thomas smiled blissfully, and wished Gabriel were here. He would have appreciated all his work.

It was odd that he happened to think then of Gabriel; for that night, Gabriel came home.

He was hurt. Father put him to bed, just as he had years ago, when Gabriel had had scarlet fever. Thomas shivered at the thought. Gabriel had a new kind of scarlet fever: wounds made by the men in scarlet whom Thomas secretly admired. He loved his brother, even if he envied him, and he certainly did not want him to die.

Father and Abigail were tending to him, and Thomas rushed to his bedside. "Where was the battle? Were you there?"

Gabriel did not answer directly, but asked Father, "Have you seen any of our troops?"

"No, not yet," said Father, more concerned with the extent of Gabriel's wounds.

Abigail was hustling them all away, but Thomas lingered on the stairs. Gabriel's wound was a dark slash across his ribs. Thomas forced himself to look. Soldiers had to bear these things.

Gabriel, almost babbling, was telling Father about the battle: about how the Green Dragoons 'cut them to pieces.' Thomas shivered, wondering what that had looked like.

His brother was carrying dispatches for the Continental Army. Thomas was curious about them. The dispatch box did not look like a box, but was a round leather case, contained rolled-up paper. Plainly this was important. Father shooed him up to bed at last, and Thomas stared blindly into the darkness, unable to guess what the morning would bring.

In the first hazy light, he and Father went out armed to look for the wounded. And thus, the first soldiers Thomas saw did not come marching to the door, but were found in the fields in a bloody tangle of blue and scarlet. Some of the bodies were horribly disfigured from combat, but calm in a fellowship of death. Thomas knew he was seeing what could happen in his chosen profession, and was a little chastened. Lawyers, merchants, and clergymen need not fear this. Soldiers were the most glorious, the most tested of men, because they faced and endured this without flinching. Out of respect, Thomas must not flinch from their poor mangled bodies.

One of the bodies looked up at him, and Thomas jumped back, horribly startled. Father had him help carry the wounded man to the house. They spent the early morning helping soldiers of both sides back to the front porch of Freshwater, and gave them what care they could. Even silent little Susan brought water around, and the soldiers smiled and thanked her, or nodded wearily, or simply drank, suffering like dumb animals.

A little after nine o'clock, the British came out of the cornfield. One moment they were not there, and the next they were.

In a flash, Thomas understood their danger. His brother was a rebel, carrying important dispatches. He would be found, and their whole family would suffer. Father would not tell them he had been a Captain in His Majesty's Army. Father would do anything to help Gabriel. Thomas, feeling his new responsibility, knew he must do something to help them all.

Gabriel came out onto the porch. He was not wearing his uniform coat, but anyone could see he was wearing a rebel uniform. Thomas dashed over to him.

"Gabriel! I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Thomas. The British are here."

"Yes, I know, but come on!" Pulling his brother behind him, he was soon inside the shaded coolness of the house.

'Where are the dispatches?"

"What do you know about--?" Gabriel was shocked.

"I just know, that's all—where are they? Won't the British be looking for them?"

"They're here in the kitchen."

Walking toward the kitchen, Thomas had a sudden inspiration. The trap door of the cellar was only feet away. Thomas lifted it, and Gabriel looked puzzled.

"Thomas—what--?"

Immediately, Thomas rushed at his brother, knocking him down the cellar stairs. Gabriel cursed with pain, and shouted up at him.

'What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

"I know what I'm doing. Be quiet! You don't want the British to find you, do you?"

"I'm not ashamed of my service to the---"

"Oh, shut up! Think of somebody beside yourself for once! The British are burning rebel farms! Do you want Father hurt, or the little ones to lose the roof over their heads?"

There was a silence below, and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. Snatching up the dispatch box from the kitchen table, he ran through the house, out the back door, and into the privy. He dropped the dispatch box with a nasty "plop" into the malodorous muck below.

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He had been mentioned in dispatches. Captain Martin's resourcefulness and coolness in the face of the enemy---

Satisfied with his plan so far, he ran back to the front of the house. There was a sudden thunder of galloping hooves, and he wondered if it would be British or rebels, and if there would be a battle right on their doorstep.

They were the Green Dragoons. Thomas had heard of them before—everyone had. Their leader, Colonel Tavington, was known as the Butcher of the Carolinas and the Terror of the Santee. These were names to inspire delight and fear, and Thomas had briefly imagined some such names for himself once. As they rode up, Thomas looked at the man in the lead, and was sure this must be the Terrible Tavington himself.

He was resplendent in his scarlet and green uniform. His plumed helmet was an object of reverence, and Thomas had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to be garbed in such glory. The Dragoons were all wonderful: a splendid, swaggering, soldierly lot, high on their handsome horses. Thomas' former dreams of leading infantry in line of battle and giving the order to fire abruptly evaporated. Replacing them was the vision of _–_

of Colonel Thomas Martin—aye, they call him the Dark Knight of the South-- mounted on a ferocious charger, huge sabre flashing in the air, riding down on the enemy, shouting "Charge!" The terrified enemy turned tail and fled before his wrath, and the Dark Knight—laughed—laughed--as he smote them down.

Thomas shook his head, trembling with excitement. It was not impossible. The Green Dragoons were part of the British Legion, largely composed of fellow Americans. Loyal to the King, they had been created out of a number of provincial troops, then unified under the famous Tavington. Thomas looked over the faces of the dragoons, and saw many who looked as young as Thomas himself. _They did it, so can I._

Father was on the steps, speaking to a British infantry lieutenant, who was thanking him for "his care of His Majesty's soldiers," and Thomas felt a glow of pride.

He took his place by Father, and waited for his destiny to rein up before him.


	2. Green Destiny

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Patriot. I am writing this for love, not money. ****

2. Green Destiny

Colonel William Tavington felt cool displeasure as he looked at the jumble of Colonial and British wounded at the nearby farmhouse. He believed in making examples, and considered such a fate for this farm. He supposed the untidy man in the bloody shirt must be the farmer himself, ungentlemanlike as he looked. It was hard to know if the fellow was a rebel or not. Still, it might be best to burn the place. The farmer had aided rebels, and Tavington had decided to consider a rebel anyone who aided rebels in any way. Before he could give the order, however, a boy appeared at his stirrup.

"Colonel, may I speak to you?"

Tavington looked down. A pale, thin, young Colonial was looking up at him, anxiously excited. Certainly he must belong to the farm—probably the farmer's son, for the man looked over at him, worried.

"What is it?" Tavington snapped impatiently. Their wounded had been cared for by the farmer, it was true, but still--

"I would very much like to join the Green Dragoons, sir!" burst out of the boy in a single breath. Tavington was amused, and distracted from the business of example-making. The boy looked so painfully eager. Tavington thought nostalgically of himself at that age, dreaming of conquering the world, like a new Alexander.

Well, he was thirty-five, older than Alexander had been when he had died master of the world. He was no conqueror, but a commander of a provincial legion, fighting rebels in a colonial backwater. So much for the dreams of youth.

The boy looked a little young, and the farmer more than a little distressed. Well, if the boy was volunteering for the King's service, this must be a loyal household, and Tavington mentally dismissed example-making for the present.

"Lieutenant, have a detachment take our wounded to our surgeons at Winnsboro," he ordered. His gaze returned to the boy. Recruits were always welcome, but the boy probably would need his father's permission, and that did not seem forthcoming. They were squabbling together, and Tavington overheard them.

"You said I could go!"  
"I said _in two years_!"

"Really," interposed Tavington. "I very much enjoy listening to your family disputes, but I do have a war to fight. Not that I expect you to understand that."

"Father was a Captain in the last war!" cried the boy, defensively.

The father seemed very put out, which puzzled Tavington, but not enough to care much about it.

"Well," Tavington suggested to the farmer, "if you were a captain (may I have your name, sir?), perhaps you would equip your son for a cornetcy open in Captain Bordon's troop?"

"Martin," said the farmer, dully. "Benjamin Martin. He's only fifteen."

"Captain Martin,' said Tavington. "I was but sixteen when I first entered His Majesty's service." The boy glowed with a pale fire. That father ought to be proud of such a high-spirited lad.

"Colonel," asked Martin, "do you have any children?"

Annoyed at such a personal question, Tavington answered rather superciliously. "No, I do not, sir."

The farmer seemed to be suppressing an explosion of rage. "Well, Colonel, I hope someday you do. I hope you have many children—"

Tavington smiled uneasily and started to interrupt, but Martin continued with quiet fury.

"I hope you have many children, and that all of them torment you as much as mine have me!"

"Really, sir! This is most extraordinary----"

The farmer's rage had left him, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned to his son. "You can go, and you can take Piper," and the boy nearly jumped with elation, "but only if you can jump the paddock gate cleanly on the first try."

Tavington saw that his men, having fought hard, were in the mood for entertainment, and were interested in seeing if the boy could rise to the challenge. Tavington quickly ordered the infantry lieutenant—Grayson was his name---to take charge of the enemy wounded and return them under guard to the encampment. Some of them would die, some would recover. Of those, some could probably be persuaded to promise allegiance to the King, and would be useful replacements.

The boy raced to the stable, and cantered back in a few moments on a good-looking bay gelding. He had been taught well—the seat was good, and he kept his back straight. Tavington thought the heels not quite right, but that could be improved with proper attention. The boy kicked the bay into a gallop and headed for the gate.

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Thomas felt like he was flying. All of his dreams and aspirations were focused in a moment's jump over a three-barred fence. Piper seemed to understand this, because the tall horse was running smoothly, as concentrated on the path before him as Thomas himself.

Thomas felt the horse gather himself for the jump, and then they were soaring over, without the least sound of a hoof touching the wood below them. Piper was running free toward the meadow, but Thomas pulled him smartly about, and headed toward his father and the Colonel. From his vantage point on Piper's back, the Colonel no longer looked like a giant, but like a fellow man and a soldier.

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The dauntless young cornet leaped the chasm effortlessly. He and his mount were as one, as they brought vital intelligence to the Colonel--

The dragoons were cheering him. Thomas was too young to hear the irony in some of the voices, and flushed happily. This was as good as any of his dreams. The Colonel was smiling and speaking to another officer beside him. His father was looking at him, his face a mixture of pride and grief.

"Well done, young Martin," purred the Colonel. Tavington turned to Father, "Captain, I believe you must, in honour, keep your bargain."

"Yes, well ridden, Thomas," said his father quietly. "Colonel, you and your men are welcome to refresh yourselves. I need a little time to get Thomas' necessary equipment together. My housekeeper can offer you tea."

"Thank you, sir," said the Colonel, dismounting. "Come along, Bordon, we must let the Captain prepare your new cornet."

Bordon smiled. "Indeed, sir, we are grateful for your hospitality."

While Colonel Tavington and four of his officer entered his home, Thomas was taken upstairs by Father to pack his few possessions.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Father whispered to him, "Have you seen Gabriel?"

Thomas whispered back, "He's in the cellar. I got rid of the dispatches in the privy."

His father looked briefly furious, but then dismissed the matter. "I know you did what you did to protect us, Thomas, but sacrificing yourself by joining the British is going too far!"

"I want to go, Father! You know I've always wanted to be a soldier, and this is my chance. I'll be an officer right away!"

Father was busily pulling out linen from the clothes press. He muttered, "There's no time to prepare you properly." Nathan and Sam were standing wide-eyed in the doorway.

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The dauntless young cornet knew he must be prepared for anything----

Father said, "Nathan, Sam, go up to the attic, and bring down the small trunk. There's an old saddlebag up there too."

"Yes, Father." The two little boys ran up the attic stairs, and Thomas could hear them thumping over his head, dragging something along.

"Thomas," Father said, his face grave. "I know you think that war is a glorious thing. It is sometimes: but it is also a terrible thing and a cruel thing. It will change you. The next time I see you, you will be a different person. You may be wounded—" He stopped and rubbed his eyes. "Your mother, when I was troubled, always told me to 'stay the course.' That's what _you_ must do. If you take the King's shilling, you _will _serve. If you change your mind later, I cannot get you out of it. You must obey Colonel Tavington as you have never obeyed me. You cannot question him, and you cannot shirk his orders. He is a hard man, and he will ask things of you that you cannot imagine yet. Remember, no matter what happens, that I love you. Remember that you will always be my son, and that this will always be your home."

The boys were back, half-carrying and half-pushing the trunk. Nathan had draped the dusty saddlebag over his shoulder. Most of Thomas' possessions, including his copy of Shakespeare's _Henry V_, were packed into the small trunk. Father packed the saddlebag with some linen and toilet articles "because sometimes you will be traveling light."

Father whispered, "You're not even shaving yet." He took Thomas into his own room, and pulled out the wonderful trunk. Reaching in, he retrieved a pair of pistols, and a fine, but tarnished sword. He looked at the weapons thoughtfully, and then gave them to Thomas to carry.

Father took the trunk and bag downstairs, and Tavington, looking up from his tea, directed a waiting dragoon to load the trunk in the baggage wagon. Thomas, burdened with his new weapons, felt a brief thrill of fear, remembering that Gabriel was in the cellar, right under their feet, and could doubtless hear everything going on in the kitchen. He prayed that his brother would be quiet, just a little, little longer.

The officers all smiled at Thomas' appearance. Captain Bordon, in whose troop he was to serve, was a stocky, red-haired man, with an affable air. He spoke kindly to Thomas, and told him his lieutenant would be Duncan Monroe.

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Tavington finished his tea, and set down the cup, in a thoughtful mood. He had been ready to despise the farmer and the farm, but on reflection, he was no longer comfortable with this. His own goals in life included the reward of a land grant. It was possible that he might be in the same situation as this Captain Martin in a few years. A retired soldier with a prosperous farm and a large number of children to care for—and where was the wife? Apparently Mrs Martin had died. Women died all the time in childbirth.

He laughed to himself, a little bitterly. He was borrowing trouble. He had not even found a lady whose family particularly wished to ally themselves with Tavington, he of the tarnished name and impoverished means. Once the war was over, he must resign himself to some very diligent fortune hunting….

The paymaster had found the boy and his father outside, and was completing the regimental paperwork. Tavington wondered how he would feel about a son of his joining the Army so young. Naturally, he would have the benefit of his own experience in advising his child. Of course, he thought reluctantly, the farmer had been a soldier too, and presumably had used the same arguments….

Tavington silenced his irritating inner voice, and focused on the present. They had a new recruit. That was a good thing. He and his officers were resting comfortably, drinking good tea and eating the housekeeper's excellent biscuits. That was a good thing too. Duncan Monroe was a good lieutenant, and would train the boy well. Everything was as it should be.

The farmer's little golden-haired daughter was half hiding in the housekeeper's skirts, staring at him. A pretty child. He essayed a winning smile, but the little girl was not so easy to please as the flirtatious Charlestown ladies. Tavington shrugged. He really did not care much for children, but had been told it was different with one's own. He hoped so.

-----

Thomas was leaving; he was _really leaving,_ and he felt afraid for a moment. Lieutenant Monroe greeted him, and told him that they would fit him with a proper uniform back at camp. Thomas' spirits lifted, as he imagined himself in red and green, and crowned with a fearsome plumed helmet.

__

The dauntless young cornet bade farewell to his family--

Then he saw Father, and Abigail, and his brothers and sisters, lining up to say goodbye. Susan's thin little face was shocked, and his little brothers looked bewildered. He kissed his sisters, and Margaret murmured fiercely, "You mustn't sacrifice yourself! Maybe they would take me instead!"

"Don't be silly, Margaret." He gave her shoulder a squeeze: they had always been fond of each other. "Why in the world would the Dragoons carry off a girl? You'd just slow them down!"

She sniffed tearfully and pressed a pair of handkerchiefs of her own making into his hand. He pocketed them, hoping the watching dragoons would not laugh. He shook hands with his brothers, and whispered to Nathan that he could have his collection of toy soldiers.

Abigail kissed him, and sobbed, "Mr Thomas, don't let those soldiers lead you astray!"

There was some muffled laughter at this, and Lieutenant Monroe, tall in the saddle, said, "Don't worry, we'll teach him everything he needs to know." Some of the dragoons grunted their assent at this, and the Colonel and Captain Bordon exchanged amused and expressive glances.

Thomas put out his hand to shake Father's, but was pulled instead into a crushing embrace. "Good luck, Thomas. God bless you." He released Thomas and looked away, his eyes red.

Thomas mounted Piper then, and rode over to Lieutenant Monroe. The Colonel was ready to lead them out, and Thomas straightened his shoulders, trying to look like the men around him.

A random thought struck him, "Lieutenant Monroe, sir? We're called Green Dragoons. Shouldn't we be wearing—well, _green_?"

Monroe looked at him, astonished. "_Green_? No, Mr Martin: you must be thinking of some _other_ Green Dragoons."

Thomas nodded, and shrugged off the thought. As he rode away, he shed tears: tears of grief at leaving his family, and tears of joy that he was at last embarked on a great adventure. He would serve his King, serve his idol Colonel Tavington, and serve both in a uniform infinitely surpassing in smartness anything his elder brother would ever wear in the service of the rebels. A last whisper of fantasy blew across his imagination.

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The dauntless young cornet--------

-------_is me._

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Author's note: Those acquainted with British Legion lore will understand my in-joke about Green Dragoons wearing green. They did. The producers of the Patriot thought their audience too stupid to understand that soldiers in a loyalist regiment, attired in green as they often were, were fighting for the British. Actually both sides were pretty colorful. Harry Lee's Legion, on the Continental side, also wore green. (Yes, sometimes there were disastrous cases of mistaken identity.) The British artillery wore blue. The very name "Green Dragoons" is a twentieth-century historian's invention.

Thank you to Slytherin Dragoon, pigeonsfrom hell, Zubeneschamali aka Beta Librae, nomorebraces, and ladymarytavington. Reviews to an author are like water in the desert to a traveler.


	3. Destiny Rides to Camden

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Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Patriot. I think that is fairly clear by now.

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3: Destiny Rides to Camden

Benjamin Martin sat on the front porch with the letter. The heat of August made the sun unbearable, and he was grateful for the slight breeze. The boys had gone fishing in the shade by the creek, and the girls were staying for a few weeks with their Aunt Charlotte. Martin had toyed with the idea of a governess now and then, but disliked the idea of a strange woman living in such close proximity. He knew he should be doing more for the girls. With the country so unsettled because of the war, though, it would be unwise to try to send them to school. Besides, with Susan's condition----

Hesitantly, he opened the letter. It was addressed in Thomas' own hand, so he need not fear the dreaded epistle from a commanding officer, advising him of his son's death. He had spent the last few months in nearly unceasing anxiety. Gabriel had sent word when he had made it back safely to Harry Burwell; and rumour had it that Gates and the Continentals were readying themselves for a major battle with the British, now under Cornwallis.

Where was Thomas? Rumour also had it that the Green Dragoons were everywhere, stamping out the few remaining flames of rebellion in South Carolina. Peter Howard in Pembroke had written him, trying to persuade him to join "in the common struggle," but Martin could not take sides. Much as he sympathized with the views of his Patriot friends, he had too much at stake here at home to risk his children's safety. With Gabriel serving under Harry, and Thomas in the British Legion, he had to strike a neutral balance between the two warring parties.

Smoothing out the paper, he smiled at the boyish scrawl before him.

__

August 8, 1780

Fort Carolina

My dear Father,

I am well and safe, and hope you and my brothers and sisters are as well. We are encamped near Camden, in a newly built log fort. It is more comfortable here than camping on patrol, as here we all have tents and cots, and the food is better. I wish you could see me in my uniform. Now that I have turned sixteen, I've grown into it more. I'm even shaving (a little) now!

Everyone is very kind. My officers are good men, and take great pains to train and prepare me for my duties. Lieutenant Monroe is an excellent swordsman and is teaching me the finer points (haha!) of fencing. I also practice with the pistol and am learning about keeping troop accounts. Some of the men are pretty rough, and Lt. Monroe has told me I must be fair but firm with them.

The women here are very kind too. Many of the soldiers have wives and families at camp. Mrs Poole, a widow, washes and mends my linen, and refuses to take any money for it. She is very nice.

You remember Mr Wilkins from the Assembly? He is serving as a Captain in the Dragoons now, and sends you his respects. It's good to see a familiar face among so many strangers.

I'm sure you heard the story about how the British Legion tricked the rebels, pretending to be the rebel Colonel William Washington and his men. It is all true. I was with the body of the dragoons who arrested the band. The Colonel is a very great soldier, and is very brave, but he has a good sense of humour too, as you can see.

We may be having a big battle soon. Word is that Gates is headed toward us. He'll be sorry if he tries to fight us, but it's best that he comes and we whip him and get it over with. The sooner this war is over the better for everyone.

Please take the money I have enclosed and buy presents for the children, especially something pretty for the girls. Give them my------well, say hello to them for me. I don't want Nathan to think I've gotten soft.

I know that you did not want me to join the Army so soon, but I think it was for the best. I endeavor everyday to conduct myself in a way that would make you proud of me. I remember you told me 'to stay the course.' I think about that, and all the other important things you have taught me.

Your loving son,

Thomas

P.S. If you happen to hear from Gabriel, please say hello to him for me. I hope he understands that he is still my brother, and is not too angry about you-know-what.

Martin gave a wry chuckle. Thomas was still Thomas—still a boy; and best of all, still the sweet, idealistic boy he had raised. He could picture Mrs Poole, too: a plump, motherly kind of woman, looking after Thomas, washing his linen, and doling out good-natured advice. There had been few women with his company in the last war. Perhaps this was better. Women might certainly provide a civilising element in a rough army camp.

__

-----

Cornet Thomas Martin of the British Legion awoke with an excruciating headache. He lay still a moment, fighting off nausea, and promised himself he would never, ever, engage in a drinking contest again—especially one involving the vile local rotgut. The light filtering into the tent was painfully bright, and he threw a forearm over his eyes. The girl cuddled next to him on the narrow cot objected sleepily as he poked her with his elbow.

"Sorry, Dinah," he groaned.

Dinah, otherwise known as Mrs Poole, or the Widow Poole, or Darling Dinah, slid a companionable arm around him. To Thomas, in his current condition, it was like being hit with a rough-split log. He groaned again, and Dinah, with a sympathetic pat, was unabashedly out of bed and rummaging through her belongings for her trusted cure-all.

Thomas squeezed his eyes open, and was rewarded by the sight of the comely Dinah. She was indeed an army widow, but only two years older than he. She had lost her husband in a skirmish five months before and had stayed with the Legion, making a living as best she could. He gave her a weak smile, and she smiled radiantly in return: grabbing up her shift and slipping it over her head not a moment too soon.

Thomas' friend and fellow cornet, Sam Willett, came bursting through the tent flap, out of breath, but full of news.

"Up and at 'em, Thomas! Word is that the Lord General thinks we've got the rebels cornered, and the Colonel himself will be leading us into battle today! Best you smarten yourself up a bit!" He gave the girl an appreciative leer. "'Morning, Dinah." She responded with a demure smile, and a murmured appeal to keep his voice down.

"_You_ up—_you_ at 'em," snarled Thomas. The tenderhearted Dinah mixed her eye-opener, and offered Thomas a sip from a flask. He took a swallow, trying to keep it back in his throat and away from his tastebuds. He still could not repress a shudder. He could not be sure of all the ingredients, but he knew it contained sloe gin, antimony, mustard, and a little laudanum. It was truly, truly vile, but Dinah swore it would cure anything from a hangover to the pox, large or small.

Sam hurried out to spread his news, and Thomas, with Dinah's help, was soon dressed and groomed as befitted a young officer of dragoons. The small shaving mirror did not allow Thomas to gloat over his appearance in full, but he never lost the thrill of pleasure he felt when seeing himself in uniform.

Swaggering out, the complaisant Dinah hanging on his arm, he soon saw and respectfully acknowledged Captain Bordon and Lieutenant Monroe. Lieutenant Hunt came up to them and the older men started laughing at some joke of the night before. A groom brought him Piper, who was looking glossy and well fed.

Dinah wanted another kiss; and blushing, he obliged her there in front of everyone. His superiors seemed amused. Dinah clung to him, a little teary-eyed.

"Come back to me," she whispered. "I couldn't bear to lose you, too." Thomas held her close, and then released her to mount Piper. The girl touched his boot, smiling up at him tenderly.

"Like a knight in shining armour," she sighed. Thomas blushed proudly, and took the laughter and inevitable remarks of his friends with good humour.

His colonel had ridden up, and viewed the scene with distaste. _The boy does not know what he is doing,_ he thought. _Someone must tell him. _The Martin boy was not the first young man, away from home for the first time, to make an ass of himself; but Tavington remembered the embarrassments and complications of his own foolish, unguided youth well enough not to wish them on any young officer under his command. He would make a point of talking with the boy later.

----

Within the hour, Tavington looked over the rebel ranks, and smirked unpleasantly. The continental regulars were not bad soldiers, but their militia units were worse than useless. They were advancing unsteadily, and seemed ready to break and run if anyone so much as said "Boo!" to them.

Shifting the focus of his telescope to the left, he saw that Cornwallis had ordered Webster and his men to challenge the rebels. He lowered the instrument, and waited. With minutes, the militiamen were in flight. Webster obviously did not consider them worth pursuing, and had transferred his attention to the Maryland and Delaware regulars. It was still early in the morning, and the sun was not yet beating down relentlessly. A pair of butterflies fluttered together in the tall grass in front of him. He watched them in silent pleasure, enjoying an ephemeral moment of peace and beauty. The butterflies hovered near a flower, and then flew their separate ways. Tavington heard hoofbeats approaching, and he gave the smallest of sighs.

A messenger from Cornwallis rode up to him with an order. His captains were watching him with excited curiosity. Tavington read the message, gave a nod to the galloper, and sent him back to his commander.

Tavington turned in the saddle to Bordon. "Well, Captain, ready the men for a little excursion."

"We are to charge, sir?"

"No, not yet." He could not help smiling. Little as he liked Cornwallis, he had to admit that the man had a sound grasp of battlefield tactics. "Now that the rebels are engaged and distracted, we are to maneuver behind them, and charge from their rear at the Lord General's command."

The dragoons were marshaled, and set out quietly at the trot. Thick gunsmoke, with its smell of rotten eggs, rose from the incessant musket fire in the battlefield; distant screams from men and horses floated on the warm, fetid breeze. Within a quarter of an hour, they were in position, and watching the battle from the other side. No one had noticed them, no one had fired upon them. The rebel regulars had withstood repeated bayonet charges, and had taken heavy casualties.

Thomas could see it all from their position near the trees. He knew they would soon be charging, and his throat was parched with anxiety. He tried to swallow, but was too dry even to manage that. He took a quick sip from his canteen. Lieutenant Monroe had taught him all about charges. _The most common injuries, Martin, are broken knees, from crashing into fellow dragoons. You've got to keep your wits about you. _Thomas practiced twisting his wrist out and up, remembering how Monroe had told him to hold his sword_. Don't hold the sword blade down, young Martin—you'll cut your horse's head off. Twist it blade edge up: you'll protect your horse if you're shot—and more importantly, the hold will give you better leverage and more force when you cut down at the enemy. _Thomas felt a twinge in his wrist, and looked quickly about him, to see if anyone had noticed his fidgeting.

Sam Willett caught his eye, and gave an uncertain grin. Some of the men were cracking jokes; some were tense, and their tension was reflected in their horses, which pawed the ground and twitched nervously. The Colonel sat on his splendid mount with Olympian calm. Thomas felt some comfort in looking at him. _At least someone knows what he's doing._

Tavington was watching the conflict before him intently. Early on, he had spotted the huge German volunteer calling himself "Baron" DeKalb, who commanded the Delaware Regiment. The German was a brave fellow, and had rallied the Colonials repeatedly. Tavington gaze swept along the rebel ranks. They had lost a lot of men, but were still full of fight. He looked back toward DeKalb's position. DeKalb was not there! He must have fallen, for there was a little group of soldiers crowding around the place where he had stood. He took another look through the telescope. Yes! DeKalb was on the ground and motionless. _This is the perfect moment to attack_!

Tavington looked anxiously toward the command group. There was no sign of a courier: probably the Lord General had not seen DeKalb go down. It would be pointless to inform him, for by the time the couriers finished their errands, one of the Colonials would have had the presence of mind to assume command. _It must be now!_

With his best pretense of calm, he said to his captains, "Prepare to charge, gentlemen." The men were quickly deployed, and set out first at a trot, then at a canter, and with Tavington's shout of "Charge!" to a full-out, thundering gallop.

Thomas, surrounded by his friends and comrades, and nearly deaf with the sound of pounding hooves, shouting men, and gunfire, had never felt such passionate intensity. This was life; this was glory. He saw some of the men, waving their sabres wildly. He saw the Colonel, out in front, effortlessly holding his blade in the exact manner recommended by Lieutenant Monroe. He looked proud and elegant, even in this moment of danger and chaos and risk. Thomas glanced at his arm, and tried to make his grip more like the Colonel's. They galloped on, the wind rushing past their faces, pulling at the plumes of their helmets.

The Colonials had seen them now. Faces were turned toward them, mouths open in 'O's' of shock. Thomas could not hear their exclamations, so great was the din around him. Most of the dragoons were shouting oaths, or inarticulate battlecries. Trooper O'Neill, one of his own men, was yelling "Hail Mary, full of grace! Hail Mary, full of grace!" over and over again, like a threat or a curse.

The Colonials were running away now. Here and there, a brave rebel made a stand. They were slashed down: but they took dragoons with them. Flying by, Thomas saw a fight two horses to the left, and a man mutilated in a way he would not have thought possible. He glanced again, but was already too far away. A rebel with a musket was looking around, as if unsure what to do. Thomas cut down at him, hesitantly; he missed, and galloped on.

Some of the Colonials were throwing down their arms, and a few of the dragoons were assigned to rounding them up. This was a dangerous duty, for occasionally it was only a trick. The bulk of the dragoons were past the regulars now, and were coming up on the fleeing militia. Many more of these had already thrown aside their weapons, but were still running, panicked as rabbits.

They were riding into a sparse wood now, and the fleeing men were trying to hide behind the trees. The horses slowed as they twisted through the maze of pine and cedar. Thomas arm was aching, and he began to think about camp and Dinah and a hot meal, when a rebel leaped out at him from behind a tree; and swinging his musket, knocked him out of Piper's saddle.

Thomas hit the ground hard, landing partly on his back. He was a little dazed. The man who had jumped out at him was rushing at him, shouting. He seemed to be moving very slowly, but he kept coming; and Thomas thought, _this man will kill me, if he lives to do it._

He fumbled for his sword, and realised that he had dropped it. He was up, scrambling on hands and knees, and saw the precious sabre a yard away. He flung himself on it as the rebel flung himself on Thomas. Thrashing together, Thomas could smell the fellow's unwashed clothes, and felt his breath hot against his face. He flinched away at the feel of the man's rough young beard scraping his cheek. He was thinking less about Monroe's careful instruction than about his many boyhood scuffles with Gabriel. He brought his knee up; and the man cursed, letting go of Thomas and falling back. Thomas snatched desperately at the sabre and without thinking, stabbed it into his enemy's chest.

Time stopped. The rebel stared at him and down at the sword blade penetrating him, eyes full of horror, disbelief, and an odd kind of disappointment. Thomas stared back. The rebel was young: only a few years older than himself. He looked like a regular person—someone he might have seen at the store in Wakefield, or fishing on the Santee. Now blood was dripping from the man's mouth, and a horrible gurgle bubbled up from inside him. Thomas stood there, holding his sabre hilt, not knowing what to do. He had a wild impulse to help the man—take him to the surgeons, see he was bandaged—and he was bewildered.

A calm voice came from behind him. "Pull out your sword, and he will die."

Thomas gripped the hilt more tightly, but could not move.

"Pull out the sword," and Thomas realised that it was the voice of his Colonel, giving an order. Thomas took a deep breath, stifled the urge to apologise to the man, and pulled hard. Steel scraped against bone with a rasp that set Thomas' teeth on edge. Blood gushed from the torn body. The man groaned, and collapsed, and then sighed his last breath out.

Tavington, on horseback, looked down at Thomas with cool approval. "Well done, Mr Martin."

Thomas looked up at him, back at the dead man, and was suddenly and humiliatingly sick: puking out his tea, his breakfast, and Dinah's cure-all, which was infinitely more vile the second time.

__

----

Within a few days, they were back in Camden, victorious. They had continued their chase after the action at Camden, and had eventually run down Sumter's band, capturing wagons of supplies and rescuing over a hundred of their own men. Sumter had eluded them, but he was a spent force, at least for the time being.

All in all, Thomas felt he had just lived through the most important events of his life. He had killed a man. He had proven to himself and others that he could fight, and win, and endure days in the saddle and all the hardships of war. He had been thinking about Dinah during the entire ride back, and wondered if it would be possible to contrive anything resembling a bath. Perhaps Dinah would bathe him. He smiled, thinking of the line 'None but the brave deserves the fair.' He intended to savour his reward to the utmost.

"Mr Martin!" Thomas turned at his name. Roarke, the Colonel's orderly, was before him. "The Colonel wishes to see you, sir."

With some trepidation, Thomas entered the command tent, and bowed to his Colonel. Tavington was not quite his usual impeccable self. Blood marred his white cravat, and there was a streak of it below his right ear. Still, he looked most awe-inspiring, and Thomas concentrated on keeping his face impassive and his back straight.

"Come in, Mr Martin," said the Colonel. He was not in the best of moods. Thomas wondered that he was not in a state of elation over the victory, and his own very great part in it. The Colonel, in fact, looked more like someone who had lost the battle, than like a man who had been key in winning it. Tavington was going through some reports on his desk: probably the casualty figures. Thomas tried not to peer impudently at his Colonel's papers, which he sensed would not be well received.

Colonel Tavington sat back in his chair, and looked Thomas over thoughtfully. Thomas hoped he would not be rebuked for his unfortunate lapse a few days ago. _What a wretched stroke of bad luck, that the Colonel himself should see me at such a weak moment._

The Colonel's lips quirked slightly. "Your first real battle, Mr Martin. You did well."

Hugely relieved, Thomas could not help apologising for his conduct. "I'm sorry, sir, about—well, you know—it won't happen again."

Tavington looked momentarily blank. Then his face cleared, and he seemed to be having trouble keeping his face straight. "That! It's happened to us all, sir--it's nothing to be ashamed of. Time and too many such sights will soon have you as hardened as the rest of us." He frowned, glancing over his reports. "You acquitted yourself well in your first major action. As to your other duties, I hear nothing but good of you from Captain Bordon and Lieutenant Monroe."

Thomas felt himself blushing like a girl, and embarrassed at such another lapse, blushed even more. "Thank you, sir!"

"That is not why you are here, Mr Martin," said Tavington. "I am concerned about other aspects of your conduct."

Thomas, in a panic, searched his memory for any other fault. If the Colonel was not annoyed with him for puking at the sight of a dead man, what could it be?

"Mr Martin," began Tavington, with a slight edge in his elegant voice. "You are an officer and a gentleman in His Majesty's service, and as your commander, I stand in place of a father to you."

An uneasy, wormish feeling crept over Thomas. Colonel Tavington was beginning to sound eerily like Father when Thomas had gotten into trouble back home. _Mr Martin, you have neglected to exercise the horses. Mr Martin, did you_ _hoe the beans, as I told you? Mr Martin, why are these toy soldiers still all over the floor?_ Completely at a loss, Thomas waited to hear how he had disappointed his admired commander.

"Mrs Poole is a good-natured, pretty creature, is she not?" The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "I take it that your time in the Legion has seen you introduced to more than battle."

Thunderstruck, and unspeakably embarrassed to find himself in such a conversation with his Colonel, Thomas began to sweat. This really was as bad as Father.

The Colonel eyed him with cool interest, ignoring his cornet's embarrassment. "Well, sir?"

"Rmphhugggggh," replied Thomas, feeling as if his mouth were stuffed with cotton. Tavington's eyebrows rose even high.

Thomas cleared his throat. "I mean, Colonel, Mrs Poole has been very kind to me. She washes and mends my clothes, and helps me---" Thomas blushed at Tavington's expression. A flash of memory –of finally performing as a man with Dinah at satisfactory length—filled him with secret pride. Defiantly, he added, "And she refuses to take a penny for anything! Sir!"

His Colonel, rather than seeming pleased at this bit of news, frowned again. "Mr Martin, a soldier has a right to a soldier's pleasures and pastimes, but they must not be allowed to compromise his honour or his future career. Mrs Poole is indeed pretty, and indeed good-natured, and she is as free with her favours as one would wish a camp woman to be, but a camp woman is precisely what she is."

Thomas looked a protest, but Tavington continued ruthlessly. "She is not the stuff of which romance is made. A young woman in her situation often looks to better herself by presenting herself as a damsel in distress, and thus ensnaring a young gentlemen; but _think,_ Mr Martin!" said his Colonel, lashing him with every word. "Do you imagine your father would welcome a camp follower as a daughter—and would you wish her as a companion for your innocent sisters?"

The Colonel rose, looking down at Thomas, who tried not to wriggle as a drop of sweat trickled down his spine. "The news that she does not take money from you I find alarming, as I did that _tender scene_ in camp the morning before the battle. She is trying to create in you a sense of obligation. You do not want to be made use of, in such a way that would make not just you, but your entire family, a laughingstock. You do not want to injure your military career; for you must be aware that any marriage you might make would be subject to my approval as your commander."

Thomas forced himself to keep his head up, and look at the Colonel. Tavington seemed pleased, and added more mildly. "Now listen to me. I am not going to order you to discard Dinah Poole, but I strongly advise you to begin paying her as you ought. As you cannot offer her marriage, the kindest thing is to see that she has the money she has earned. And do consider what you are about, and how your father would feel about you bringing home from the war a by-blow, or a case of the pox, or both. A little _discretion,_ Mr Martin."

__

-----

Thomas nearly ran from the Colonel's tent, aflame with embarrassment. Captain Wilkins, on his way to report, stopped him.

"Is the Colonel still in his tent?"

Thomas pulled himself together sufficiently to answer the captain politely. Wilkins, seeing that something was wrong, smiled kindly. "Anything wrong, Thomas?"

"No, sir," Thomas replied. "It's just—" Seeing a face he had known for years, he felt the need to talk. "The Colonel saw me with Dinah Poole, and told me to be more discreet." He stared at the ground, knowing his face must still be red.

Wilkins grinned at him. "The Colonel's just trying to look out for you, son. He's a little standoffish where camp women are concerned. Doesn't want to lower himself in the eyes of the men, I reckon. And now, of course—" He stopped, and smiled again at Thomas. "He's right, you know. It's all right for some of the others, but you're from around here, and you don't want talk to get back to your family."

Thomas was wondering about something else. "Captain, why isn't the Colonel happy about the battle? He seemed a little—out of sorts, maybe?"

Wilkins looked down at him. He had heard that the Colonel had received a royal dressing-down from the Lord General for charging without orders, but he thought it wrong to gossip about such a thing with the Martin boy. There were all sorts of ways to be discreet, after all.

"Never you mind. He's probably just tired, is all." He grinned again. "I'll tell you a secret. The dragoon captains are going to a surprise party for him tonight. After I report, I'll head out to town, and when the Colonel goes to visit some friends for dinner, we'll all be there. That should perk him up some." He strode away, toward the command tent, leaving Thomas to plan his own victory celebration.

Thomas found that a bath could indeed be contrived, and that Dinah was the most obliging of bath attendants. And he found further, that she was not entirely displeased to have an extra shilling or two.

----

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Author's notes: Thanks to my reviewers: ladymarytavington, angelfish23, katres, Zubeneschamali, Carolina Girl, and Wolf Prince. Thus encouraged, I shall write a little more in this universe.

One of the best and most authentic-looking cavalry charges I know of on film is in a nice Australian adventure from the 80's, called _The Lighthorsemen. _It depicts the last big-scale cavalry charge, when the Australians charged the Turks at Beersheba during the First World War. I recommend it to fellow inquirers into military history. On another note, the recent passing of Ronald Reagan reminded me that whatever one thinks of his work on film, he at least, unlike many other actors, always held his sword correctly when portraying a cavalryman. If you look at the Battle of Camden scene in _The Patriot_, you will see Jason Isaacs assuming the position most admirably, sabre blade out and up.

Yes, I am using some material from my other story _Et In Arcadia Ego_. The characters from it, however, will be mostly offstage, and since this is an alternate universe, different things will happen. The next chapter will deal with King's Mountain, and will be very AU indeed.


	4. Destiny Takes a Detour

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Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Patriot. So help me Hannah.

This chapter moves deeper into my alternate history of the Revolution  
****

Chapter 4: Destiny Takes a Detour

William Tavington had left Charlestown in great good humour: the British campaign in South Carolina had been an unqualified success. Since Camden, the rebel militias had been utterly crushed, and the Continental regulars were nowhere to be seen. Now back at camp, he could look over the past few months with a feeling of accomplishment.

His uneasy relations with the Lord General, too, were mending. Their convoys were passing unmolested around the colony. Cornwallis had not taken to Tavington, when the commander had first replaced Sir Henry Clinton, feeling he was reckless and too eager for personal glory. However, he now was willing to give Tavington his due. South Carolina had been won for the King. Whatever pockets of rebellion still existed were subdued and quiet.

Tavington had had the distinct pleasure of driving the usurpers from his fiancée's home, Arcadia. The plantation was now partially functioning with hired labour under the care of an overseer. Elizabeth and her sisters, however, were remaining with her aunt for the foreseeable future, since Camden was more easily accessible in his current circumstances, and somewhat safer for a household of unprotected women and children in any case.

There had been a ball in Charlestown—a gesture of fellowship towards the South Carolina loyalists. Their support had been key in consolidating control here. The ball itself had been tiresome, since his fiancée had been unable to attend, but quite a successful and glittering affair, in the main. Cornwallis, prior to the festivities, had summoned him for some words of special praise. The recognition was intensely gratifying.

Smiling to himself, he remembered another source of pleasure in Charlestown. He had seen Patrick Ferguson there; "The Bulldog" to the Army, Pattie to his friends. Now Inspector of Militia, the Scotsman was having great success in recruiting, partly due to his own skill and personal charisma, and partly due to the military successes of August. Men who might have cautiously stayed at home, waiting on events, were now flocking to the King's banner.

A voice disturbed his reverie.

"Excuse me, Colonel. You wanted the hospital list?"" It was Ned Smith, their chief surgeon. Though things were going well as far the campaign was concerned, the same could not be said for the men's health. Fever had come to visit the camp, and decided to stay. A large number of their men were incapacitated. If they had not already pacified the colony, they would have been in sad straits.

"Thank you, Smith. Are we winning or losing?"

"Hard to tell, sir. As you see, we have not had many deaths, but the fever must run its course before a man can be fit for duty again. It hits some harder than others. The Lord General, as I'm sure you know, is bedridden with it."

Tavington knew all too well. Cornwallis had looked terrible, the last time Tavington had reported to him: face greenish-yellow and slick with sweat. Tavington himself had had a light case of it: two nights of alternating chills and fever. _I loathe being sick_. _Most especially, I loathe being sick in camp._

He went over the lists with Smith, and then sent the surgeon on his way. He got up, stretching, and stepped out of his quarters to have a look around. Not all the men had fallen victim to the fever. There was the Martin boy, pale as ever, but perfectly strong and energetic. He and another young buck, Sam Willett, were trying to get up a dog race. The sensible canines were having no part of it, though; plainly not considering the maggot-infested rations the Army provided them sufficient incentive.

"Here, boy! Come on!" Martin was waving a particularly unsavory piece of mystery meat at the end of the course. "Ajax! Over here!" The dog wagged his tail, and sat down to scratch an ear. Sam Willett laughed, trying to lure his own dog toward him, with no better success. The boys looked up and saw him.

"Good day to you, Colonel!" they called out, almost in unison. Tavington acknowledged their bows, glad that there were soldiers fit enough for such ridiculous antics. _I'm so glad they will never know about the time when I was sixteen, and wagered I could outrun a horse. Had I not been so drunk, I would have at least run in the right direction._

Martin was interesting to him for other reasons. In the course of a conversation, it had been revealed that Martin's father did not own slaves. This was certainly unusual for a planter of his property, but Captain Martin had made a success of it. Tavington himself had no desire to be a slaveowner, despite the customs of the country. If Mr. Martin's father could manage without dealing in human flesh, Tavington felt he could as well.

South Carolina planter society was a small world. Young Martin had met Elizabeth's father a number of times, and knew of Elizabeth by reputation. Tavington deplored the heat and humidity of South Carolina summers, but it was truly a beautiful country: everything grew here. With Elizabeth and her family, her ties to her cousin Wilkins, and now with his own acquaintance with the Martins and the connections he had made in Charlestown at the ball, Tavington felt he was beginning to establish a web of personal relationships that would give him a place in this world. Perhaps this was the home he had always searched for.

-----

A week later in late September, Thomas was thoroughly enjoying his free afternoon with Dinah. The two of them had remained untouched by the fever ravaging the rest of the army, and their feeling of invulnerability gave a new energy to their games. Thomas had been mortified, but also a bit smug, when the violence of their sport had demolished his cot. He had gone to the quartermaster for a replacement, and Pryor had peered at him from under his spectacles and muttered, "Impetuous!" The new cot, however, was delivered as promised, and was an improvement over the old.

The canvas walls of the tent gave an illusion of privacy that was just that---and Thomas was reminded how flimsy were the boundaries of their private Eden, as Captains Bordon and Wilkins walked by outside, talking.

"He's gone to the Lord General again—perhaps this time he'll have his way."

Bordon paused, and Thomas could hear the conversation clearly. "If the Lord General will reinforce us with some infantry at least, it would make of up for the all the Dragoons still on the sick list."

"Oh, we'll have to have some infantry— and maybe the Colonel will wheedle a field-piece or two from his lordship. There's no telling what kind of hornets' nest Ferguson has stirred up."

Dinah wriggled impatiently next to him, her hands wandering, but Thomas motioned her to be quiet. This was too good a chance to miss.. He was tired of always being the last to know anything.

Bordon spoke up next. "The Bulldog says in his message that three or four hundred, including Dragoons, would finish the business." Thomas heard them start walking again, and their voices faded. Dinah, pleased that he was no longer distracted, proceeded to take shameless advantage of him.

-----

In the end, Tavington indeed had his way. With things so quiet in their area, the Lord General's fears were calmed, and a relief force set out on October first to rendezvous with Ferguson. The Lord General had been generous, and Tavington commanded not just the British Legion, with dragoons and infantry, but a large detachment of light infantry from the 33rd and two three-pounders. Rumours flew their way of a great host of over-mountain men, under Campbell and Cleveland, who were gathering at the border between North and South Carolina. Ferguson, from his last message, was headed southeast toward them, and Tavington was moving north and west to intercept.

The scouts caught a pair of local militiamen on the night of the 6th. The men, Rollins and Billings, were close-mouthed at first about the rebels' movements, but within an hour of being offered a jug of home brew by Sergeant Davies, they were bragging about the size of the force mustered against Ferguson. They were particularly indignant about some of the Bulldog's remarks, and predicted that they would indeed be pissing on him ere long.

Tavington watched Davies play the men for fools, while he himself stood in the shadows, beyond the firelight. While the men's ignorant talk enraged him, he knew it was best to let Davies handle this his own way. The sergeant's jovial manner, his broad hints of dissatisfaction with His Majesty's Army, and his liberality with the jug had caused the men to reveal more than the worst torture could have wrung from them. 

Clearly Ferguson was in dire straits. Tavington had again sent out scouts, to assess the approaches. At dawn, Tavington would lead his force to the rescue at King's Mountain

-----

It was early afternoon, and Patrick Ferguson had gathered his forces at the top of the summit. This was sound in theory, but Ferguson could see the practice left much to be desired, for the damned rebels were making their way closer, moving from tree to tree. Sporadic shots were fired. His men had driven off one attack with a bayonet charge, but now the rebels, fearing the bayonet and growing cautious, were not showing themselves at all. Grey smoke puffed out from the woods around them, and his men were falling to snipers' bullets. He had sent messengers asking for support from Colonel Cruger at Fort Ninety-Six, but it was likely that they had never gotten through.

One of his flanks was along an escarpment that the rebels could not hope to climb. The rest of the area was heavily wooded, giving the rebels cover. It was impossible to do more than guess at the odds, but it was likely that they were outnumbered two to one. 

The tents behind him were full of wounded already. Women were helping the worst injured back, away from the lines. His own poor Sally, red hair flaming in the sun, cast him a brave smile as she bent over a fallen man. He could not allow himself to think about what would happen to her and Polly if the rebels broke through.

-----

Tavington surveyed the ground before him. The rebels had split into four columns attacking King's Mountain. He was approaching from the south, and from the gunfire, it was evident that the rebels had driven Ferguson into a defensive position atop the mountain.

"Lieutenant Marley!" he called out, "Prepare your cannon to fire at the bulk of the rebels at the left of the slope!" He hoped to create shock and panic with the cannon, and confuse the enemy. His infantry would attack in line, and trap the enemy between Ferguson's men and his own.

He turned to the dragoon captains. "Kinlock and Ogilvie—flank around right and surround the rebels there. Attempt to push them back toward the center. Hovenden, I want you in reserve behind the infantry. Deal with any the rebels fleeing your way. I, with Bordon, and Wilkins, will sweep left and head up the lower slopes of the mountain, clearing out the rebels as we go."

He glanced up at the hilltop. Smoke was rising, and amid the crackle of rifle fire, he heard the thin high sound of a whistle. _Pattie. Still alive, then._

The cannon were in position and loaded. "Fire!" shouted Tavington, and the cannons roared in reply. The balls whizzed through the air, traveling toward the enemy, and there a cloud of dust and debris, and faint screams shrilled out.  
  
"Take the infantry forward!" The ranks of musket-armed men started inexorably toward the rebels. Tavington took a quick look through his telescope at the milling figures on the mountainside. It was hard to see them clearly, but some units were already pulling back, their commanders wisely not choosing to remain sandwiched between two British armies.  
  
"Dragoons, at the trot!" They began the circuit to net the militiamen. The cannons fired again, over the heads of the advancing infantry.   
  
Thomas, in Bordon's troop, readied himself for what would certainly be a crucial battle. They were picking up speed, rounding a curve at the base of the hill. He could see a lot of horses—probably most of the rebels had dismounted and ascended the heavily wooded slopes on foot. He heard the cannon once again, firing on the mountain, making it impossible for the rebels to hold their positions. Some would meet the advancing infantry, some would attack Ferguson and the American Volunteers at the summit, some would try to escape through the woods along the sides of the mountains. Those that came their way were in for an unpleasant surprise.   
  
The first body of militia that came rushing out of the woods at them stopped, appalled, and headed back towards cover. The dragoons charged and cut them down. Other rebels were stopping amidst the trees. A crash of musketfire signaled a volley from the British. As their infantry pressed in and started squeezing the enemy, the line would also stretch out, allowing few of the rebels at the flanks to evade the attackers.   
  
The dragoons were riding up a gentle slope now, weaving through the woods, but still able to run down the over-mountain men. A rebel popped up suddenly from the brush, aiming at someone else. Thomas cut down, slicing through the man's left shoulder. The rifle fell from the man's grasp, and Thomas rode on.   
  
It seemed to take forever, but it probably lasted no more than an hour. Volleys were fired, and then ceased, as the work of the infantry changed to the shouting butchery of bayonet charges. Militiamen hid among the rocks, firing with formidable accuracy on the King's troops. They were flushed out with difficulty, but flushed out they were. Some of the rebels on the right broke out, and made a run for freedom. Hovenden's troop pursued them, and took many prisoners.   
  
Higher up, the dragoons found paths through the woods, and more and more of the militia ready to lay down their arms. Tavington led hiscaptains up the rocks to the summit, and paused. The firing had stopped. He found himself facing a man on horseback, and then looked again at the absurd checked coat and the familiar face.   
  
The unmistakable Scottish voice was familiar too. "And who were you expecting? George Washington?"   
  
"My dear Pattie! I am so relieved to see you alive!"  
  
"_You're_ relieved!" Ferguson put out his good hand for a heart-felt handshake. He turned to some of his officers around him. "This is my old friend, William Tavington, the Butcher of the Carolinas! A very useful sort of friend to have! Let me introduce you to my officers, William…"  
  
Thomas was detailed to supervise a group of the prisoners. Weapons were confiscated, and the men put under heavy guard. Lieutenant Monroe needed a cut to his thigh bandaged, and Thomas noticed some very pretty women among the American Volunteers' camp, who came to the lieutenant's assistance.   
  
One in particular caught his eye, a sparkling girl with blazing red hair and huge blue eyes. She smiled at Monroe as she cleaned the wound and wrapped it. Another girl, equally pretty if less showy, with shining chestnut hair and charming dimples, walked back with her to the tents.  
  
Thomas stared after them. "Look all you like," advised Monroe, with a sardonic smile, "but touch at your peril. The Bulldog won't want anyone playing with his toys."  
  
"The redhead?" asked Thomas. "She's really pretty." He cast another wistful glance.   
  
"The redhead and her sister as well," smirked Monroe. 

"Major Ferguson has _two_---" Thomas was impressed. "I guess rank _does _have its privileges."

Monroe snorted and clapped him on the back, as he stood up, wincing.

----------------

Tavington stared into the huge mirror, and gave another anxious tug at his lace-trimmed cravat. The bloody thing was a mess, sticking out all over the place. He hated preparing for balls. Ferguson had talked him into having his hair powdered, and he felt a great fool. The Lord General was sponsoring the ball, to celebrate their victory and to raise morale. Elizabeth and her family would be meeting them here, for tonight their engagement would become known outside the circle of her family and his own officers.

"Dinna fash yourself, William!" Ferguson gave the offending cravat a touch, and achieved with one hand, what Tavington had failed to manage with two. "Your fair lady will be swooning at the sight of you in your glory!" With a sly smile he sang under his breath,

__

"Gi'e me a lass with a lump o' land—"

Tavington stopped him, exasperated. "I am not marrying Miss Wilde for her estate! When you meet her you will understand."

"Aye, I know you too weel to think such a thing. Of course, if a man finds a pretty girl, and the pretty girl has a wee bit of property as well as all a lady's accomplishments, it's no bad thing---"

"Stop."

Ferguson smiled mischievously, and stood by Tavington. The mirror reflected them back—the Englishman all elegant anxiety, the Scot all debonair ease.

"Now then," said Ferguson with an arch look. "We look ravishing. Let's find someone to ravish."

He laughed and headed towards the ballroom. Tavington followed him, still worried. "I pray that you will say nothing of the sort in front of Miss Wilde."

"English! No sense of humour!"

----- __

November 1, 1780

My dear Father,

You may have heard of our great triumph over the rebels near King's Mountain. Cleveland and Campbell thought they had trapped Major Ferguson and his American Volunteers, but the British Legion arrived in the nick of time, and turned the tables on them, I can tell you. The rebel militias have been decimated and scattered. Campbell and some of his men escaped, but Cleveland and his sons were captured. I am not sure what will happen to them. Rumour has it that the Lord General would like to hang them, but doesn't want to set such an example. They will probably be imprisoned in the hulks in Charlestown Harbour. It is a fate better than they deserve. Their cruelties were almost without example, but I will not burden you with a recitation of them.

We are settled in winter quarters very comfortably. The Lord General felt that a celebration of the victory would improve our spirits, and hosted a splendid ball for us, right here at camp! I heard some of the other officers complaining about the rough accommodations and the lack of some of the refinements they are accustomed to, but I had never been to a ball before, and I thought it was wonderful.

Colonel Tavington's fiancée and her sisters were there. Miss Wilde is the daughter of John Wilde, your old friend the painter. We evacuated them from their home back in July, but I was not introduced to them at the time. I had heard Miss Wilde was very well educated and a blue-stocking, but she was very kind to me and did not try to frighten me with her accomplishments. I know I should not criticize a lady, but I was disappointed that she was not more beautiful. The Colonel is so very fine a man! Miss Wilde must be nearly thirty years old. Her sister, Miss Amelia, though, is about my age, and very, very pretty. She is a little shy, and had never been to a ball either, so we danced together, and then we watched some of the other people and joked about them. Their little sister was there too, and is as talkative as Susan is silent. I thought she was a pest, but the other officers seemed to like her, even the Lord General.

Give my kindest regards to my sisters and brothers. I hope the boys are more help to you than I sometimes was. I long to see you all.

Your loving son,

Thomas

Ben Martin set down the letter and leaned back in his chair. The boys were playing with their toy soldiers in the kitchen. As they knocked them down gleefully, in a pantomime of slaughter, Martin felt his heart constrict with anxiety for his other two boys, now so far away. Thomas was becoming a man, squiring young ladies at balls, and clearly making a career for himself in the Dragoons. John Wilde's daughters? He had visited the family back in '73, before the war. He could just remember the eldest girl, a quiet, not plain young woman, very occupied with teaching her younger sisters. The younger girls were a blur: this Amelia must have been quite little at the time. Martin had spent most of his visit helping Wilde hunt for water birds to paint, accompanied by Wilde's two fine boys. He had heard that both the boys were dead, along with their parents. He supposed the eldest girl had inherited Arcadia—maybe that was the attraction for an ambitious man like Tavington.

He had heard from Gabriel a month ago. For obvious reasons, he could not give his exact location, but he was evidently with Harry in North Carolina under Greene's command. He was a lieutenant now, and understandably proud of his promotion. Gabriel, it seemed, was still corresponding with Anne Howard, so they were more or less officially betrothed. She was a tradesman's daughter and no great match for the heir of Fresh Water, but she was a pretty enough girl and Gabriel's choice. Martin only hoped that his son would live to marry and settle down. Sooner or later the opposing armies would meet. His greatest fear, and the source of his worst nightmares, was that his two beloved sons would confront one another on the field of battle. Thomas had expressed it well in his first letter: the war could not be over too soon. 

-----

**__**

**Notes**: Thank you to my loyal reviewers: Slytherin Dragoon, pigeonsfromhell, and Zubeneschamali. Thanks also to Carolina Girl for your e-mail. I really appreciate people who take the time to give me words of advice and/or encouragement.

Bluestocking is a derogatory term for a bookish woman.

Patrick Ferguson and his two mistresses were real. I have tried to be as close to historical accounts of them as possible. Ferguson wore a non-regulation checked coat in battle, and one of his arms had been crippled by an earlier wound. I have always hated him and poor Sally being killed at King's Mountain, so in my alternate history, they just aren't.

Colonel Cleveland, a famous leader of Patriot militia, did order terrible atrocities on captured loyalists. One of his favourites pastimes was giving prisoners a choice of death by hanging or cutting off their own ears. I am not making that up. There were cruel deeds committed by both sides.

Elizabeth Wilde, whom some of you might remember from _Et in Arcadia Ego_, was actually very lovely, in an understated way. I put this in because I am still reeling from the shock of going to _Troy_ with my daughter and being told that Brad Pitt is "old." As for Ben Martin—he was unable to see beauty in any woman who was not blonde.

Yes, I'm really in alternate universe mode in this chapter. I am extrapolating from the film's premise: that Benjamin Martin won the Revolutionary War. Since Thomas joined the Green Dragoons, and distracted Tavington from killing the prisoners at Waxhaws, there was no general outcry against the British (no "Tavington's Quarter" at King's mountain). Gabriel was not captured, nor Thomas killed: thus Ben Martin had no incentive to leave his children and go to war. He has stayed home, acting as an honourable intermediary between the opposing parties, and taking good care of his other five children. Therefore, after the British victories at Camden and Fishing Creek, there was no dynamic militia leader to rally guerilla forces against the Crown. So, Gabriel stayed with the Continental regulars under Harry Burwell; there was no recruiting at the town of Pembroke; Cornwallis' dogs, memoirs, and wardrobe were not stolen; Charlotte's home was not burned; no ships were blown up in Charlestown Harbour in the course of the ball; and there was no reason not to commit forces to go to Ferguson's relief ten days earlier and with a larger force than they did in our plane of existence. The next chapter will take us to Cowpens. 


	5. A Destined Marriage

__

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Patriot.

Sorry, this is not the Cowpens chapter. That will be next. This chapter grew so intractably long that I was forced to halve it. I'm enjoying my alternate timeline too much not to spend some time there.

Chapter 5: A Destined Wedding 

"My dearest," Elizabeth had said to him, "we must put our trust in life."

Tavington had at last agreed with her. Their wedding had grown from a modest family ceremony into an enormous affair, with a sumptuous meal served at headquarters, under the benevolent sponsorship of the Lord General. The small church could not hold all of their well-wishers, some of whom waited outside to wish them joy. Tavington was happy to be in his commander's good books, but understood that the gesture was partly motivated by Cornwallis' aim to win over the locals. This was a golden opportunity to show British-Colonial amity.

Pattie Ferguson had smiled knowingly that morning, when he had come to collect Tavington and deliver him to the church. With a flourish, he paraphrased Shakespeare, _"Here you may see Tavington the married man."_

Happy enough to be in the same spirit, Tavington riposted, _"When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married."_

Now Pattie was amusing Elizabeth's elderly aunt, Miss Everleigh. Tavington could hear her raucous laugh carrying over the music accompanying the dancers. He took a moment to observe the scene. The Lord General was partnering Elizabeth, and they seemed to be engaged in pleasant conversation. Tavington had resigned himself to his commander's finery outshining every other man in the room, but as long as Tavington himself was the man who went home with Elizabeth, he could not begrudge Cornwallis his velvet and gold lace.

Elizabeth was well worth looking at herself, in the white satin gown that had cost all the women in the household many weary hours. The fragile petticoat, quilted in silver, made him think of clouds with the sun behind them. Her emerald wedding ring, her aunt's contribution, flashed richly on her hand. Tavington, full of the pride of possession, enjoyed the murmurs of admiration directed her way. Let other men admire all they liked: she was his, and would be so until death parted them.

Elizabeth's sister Amelia was dancing with Thomas Martin. This was not the first time he had seen them together. He would keep an eye on young Martin, and even more on Amelia, now that he had the rights and responsibilities of a brother. Martin was entirely too young to pursue a lady seriously. In Tavington's opinion, no officer under the rank of Captain had any business marrying. Amelia was full of silly romantic sensibilities, but Tavington would make certain she kept her behaviour within bounds.

He walked over the little group of wits. Miss Everleigh, being one to repeat her own clever sayings, was indeed twitting Patrick Ferguson about the poverty of Scotland.

"A fair place, perhaps, though one in which you cannot make a living, and must hire out your swords!"

"It's true, " Pattie answered, lightly. "We must travel abroad to seek our fortune. And in that, we are the luckiest of men."

The old lady gave him a smirk of disbelief, and Ferguson pulled his chair closer, and took her by the hand.

"It's a fine thing to live in a bonny rich land, where one need never fare far to live well. But we, bred among the rocks and lochs, must make our swords our passports to new worlds. While others lie fat and lazy, we march to the drumbeat of chance. Scotland is a wee sma' country, but you will not find a place in the wide world that has not Scotsmen in it. Whether the icy mountains of the North, or the jungles of Africa; whether in the armies of Russian princes or Chinese mandarins, you'll find a Scotsman there. And I'm lucky myself, to have taken up the sword; else I'd never made a friend of Will Tavington there, nor known the clammy touch of Death, nor the joyous sound of cavalry to the rescue, nor—" he smiled jauntily, kissing the old lady's hand, "the pleasure of conversation with the charming ladies of the Carolinas."

"Flirt!" exclaimed Miss Everleigh, thumping him lightly with her fan. 

Thomas had heard Ferguson's words, and stood transfixed. The major had been speaking of himself and other Scots, and indeed the army was full of them; but his words might as well apply to all soldiers. Only in the army would he have had the opportunity to test all the limits of human experience. _We make our swords our passports to new worlds….._

He had never been so grateful for the chance meeting that had brought him here. The brightly lit room, the softly glowing colours of the ladies' gowns, the bold scarlet of the men's uniforms-- everything seemed to him more than beautiful. He loved it here, and felt more and more a part of it.

Amelia Wilde caught his eye, and smiled at him. She was incredibly pretty, and he liked being with her. She was so different from a girl like Dinah Poole; but still she was a girl, and sometimes he had imagined what it would be like----

__

_No,_ he told himself firmly, _I'm not going to think about her that way. She's the Colonel's sister-in-law now, and I reckon he's going to be_ _pretty particular about the men who court her_. He liked Amelia, but there was a whole world for him to explore, and he didn't want to tie himself down yet. Plenty of time for a home and family later.

The moment he thought of "home" he felt a wave of painful nostalgia. It was almost Christmas, and he wondered what Father was doing. He had asked the Colonel for leave to visit his family, and to his surprise and joy, Tavington had granted it immediately, not even waiting to hear the reasons Thomas was prepared to give him. He had uttered a terse, "granted," and then had told Thomas he would be heading that way himself, taking his bride and her sisters back home. Thomas could ride part of the way with them, in fact. Thomas had walked away, floating on air. He would see his family, and they would see him, dressed in scarlet.

Tavington, too, had been struck by Pattie's words, but was soon too intent on more personal matters to heed the shafts of wit flying about. He and Elizabeth, with her sisters, would be setting out for Arcadia tomorrow. Cornwallis had granted him three weeks leave, and they would make the most of it. Elizabeth was desperate to go home; to go home to Arcadia, and to begin setting it to rights after the depredations of the rebels and her treacherous neighbors. Those last were either imprisoned in the hulks, fled westwards, or fighting in the remnants of the rebel militias far up in North Carolina. Elizabeth should be safe enough with the hired men and the servants to protect her and her sisters. He was looking forward to seeing the place again himself. It would be his home, too, and he could not wait to learn every bit of the land, anymore than he could wait to learn every bit of his new wife. He smiled with anticipation.

He took Amelia's hand for the next dance. She was as fresh and sweet as a rose in her lovely pink gown, and had attracted quite a following among the young officers. Though she was only fifteen, Tavington imagined she would not be unmarried long. Something of the sort had occurred to her, it seemed, for she broached the subject of Mr. Martin with little preamble.

"Could Mr. Martin not come with us to Arcadia, Colonel? He lives only forty miles away." Martin had requested Christmas leave, and Tavington had granted it: he would have felt a great hypocrite had he not.

Tavington spoke kindly but firmly. "I have already discussed this with the gentlemen, Amelia. Mr. Martin can ride with us part of the way. He will not be staying with us, though, but spending his Christmas leave with his family." He really did not want to encourage Amelia in her foolish fancies. The dance over, he returned her to her female relatives, noting a slight pout on the pretty face.

Amelia told them, her disappointment evident, "The Colonel says that Mr. Martin will _not _be visiting us at Arcadia for Christmas."

"Good," said Julia, nibbling her share of the wedding cake. "It will be just us-- just our family, with no strangers, and no silly boys." She sat back in her chair complacently, ignoring Amelia's disappointment. "It's going to be the best Christmas ever."

Tavington smiled, and looked over at Elizabeth, glowing with happiness. She had just finished a dance with her cousin, Captain Wilkins, who had given her away today. He was towering over her, beaming. Tavington decided it was past time to claim his wife for another dance, and made his way to her. Tonight he would take the soldier's reward he had always longed for: Elizabeth would be his, and with her would come a host of other joys—a family, a home. It was going to be the best Christmas ever.

Thomas, making plans for his visit home, was struck with another exciting thought. He had real money, for the first time in his life. He must get something pretty for Dinah, and leave her with enough money to keep her comfortable in his absence. He would visit the quartermaster today and buy presents for Father and the little ones—for everyone. It was going to be the best Christmas ever. 

------

Young Martin was no bad companion, Tavington decided, for the time their roads lay together. At least he kept Amelia occupied and amused. She looked after the boy wistfully, when their paths at last diverged. He cantered off with a wave and a smile, obviously anticipating his reunion with his family.

Elizabeth and Julia, at least, were eager to see their old home again. He had been a little concerned for Elizabeth, wondering if the ride would be too much for her after last night. He had helped her mount her new mare, Tomyris, his wedding gift to her, and had whispered, "Are you quite all right?"

She had blushed and smiled, and whispered back tenderly, "I'm wonderfully well." They had enjoyed the ride, for the December weather was mild, and the thought of seeing their home made all difficulties trifling. When they finally found the familiar sunken road, bordered by red cedars, the girls were in a fever of excitement. The first sight of the white house and its pillared veranda wrung a wordless cry from Elizabeth, and she switched her new mare lightly, leaving her husband in the dust.

Not about to be outridden by a woman, even his own wife, Tavington caught up with her, and they galloped, side by side to the front steps. She smiled radiantly at him, her dark curls snapping around her face.

The hired groom had come out, hearing the hoofbeats. The other servants Tavington had hired collected to greet them.

Tavington helped each of his ladies down in turn, taking his time to hold Elizabeth close and let her slide slowly down his body. Their eyes met, and she kissed him right there and then, caring nothing for her sisters or the servants. The kiss lengthened and deepened, and finally two of the witnesses began to protest.

"Please!" objected Julia, hiding her eyes. "We're innocent little girls!"

"I'm not a little girl," Amelia contradicted, "but really---I mean---"

Tavington laughed, and gave Elizabeth a look that she understood, clearing telling her that this matter would be taken up later.

The servants were introduced. Some were former slaves of theirs or of the rebels, now freed. Tavington had made clear to Elizabeth that they would not be owning slaves, and she had acquiesced to what she must have considered an Englishman's eccentricity. The groom was left to care for the horses. The wagon with their baggage, trundling along more slowly, had just appeared around the bend in the road.

The girls were looking around, assessing the condition of the house and the outbuildings. The front of the veranda, especially, would need some paint come spring. The approach to the house , the grounds in front of the veranda, and the carriage sweep all looked rather weather-beaten and unkempt. The lawn was pitted, and dead weeds straggled untidily by the steps. Amelia and Julia were curious to see what their interloping neighbors had done to the inside of the house. After another quick glance about her, Elizabeth took Tavington by the hand, and led him into their home.

Phoebe, the housekeeper, and the maid Dolly began showing them the progress they had made, one room at a time. Elizabeth took a moment to discuss meal times with Phoebe, and the housekeeper pointed out some of the damage that most concerned her.

It could have been worse. The place had the look of having been lived in by a number of men who never removed their spurs. Clearly they would need more help restoring the house than just the cook-housekeeper and the single maid could manage, even though a number of rooms had been shut up for the time being.

Amelia was in the front parlour, and remarked, "They must have set their wineglasses on the pianoforte. Such Vandals." She pottered about, looking here and there, and tutting in tones not unlike her elder sister. 

Julia ran upstairs. "I want to see my room again!"

"We'll need a carpenter out here to repair the woodwork, as soon as possible," Elizabeth said. "And then a plasterer and painter. It looks dreadfully shabby."

Tavington pulled her close. "It is our home, and it looks wonderful."

"Yes," she agreed, with tears and smiles. "Yes, it does."

A furious _"Disgusting!"_ was heard from above, and Julia came racing downstairs, fuming. Her small face was red and wrathful and her hands clenched into fists.

"A _man_ was sleeping in my room. A horrible man _who chewed tobacco_. There was a _spittoon_ in my room, and the man _spat tobacco juice_ in it, and sometimes he _missed!_ _It's horrible!"_

Elizabeth and Tavington regarded her with carefully serious faces. "I'm sorry, darling, " said Elizabeth, "perhaps the floor can be sanded and bleached." She murmured some instructions to the servants and sent them off to prepare dinner. 

Julia was unsatisfied, and continued venting her outrage. "And sometimes he hit the _wall,_ and there are these _dark brown streaks_! I can't sleep in that horrid room! He _ruined_ it! He---" Elizabeth interrupted the little girl's tirade by pulling her close and hugging her.

"We'll go upstairs and I'll see what can be done. I want to see my own room, too. " She looked back at Tavington. "When you were here in September, did you happen to notice—" 

He gave her a naughty smile. "I did notice your room. I slept there, in fact, after we were done with the rebels, and it seemed all right." He patted Julia's head, and they all went upstairs together. "No one was chewing tobacco there."

"Men who chew tobacco should be _hanged!_"

"Oh, Julia," laughed Elizabeth. "Surely not all of them!"

"Men who chew tobacco and spit in my room should be," Julia insisted, stamping up the last few steps. She and Amelia went into Julia's sunny bedchamber, and exclaimed over the stained floor and walls.

Elizabeth's hand lightly brushed up Tavington's spine, riveting his complete attention. "You slept in my bed?" she murmured with a sideways glance.

He leaned down to whisper, "I did," softly in her ear, and caught the lobe lightly in his teeth, sucking luxuriously. Elizabeth managed only a strangled mew. He let go, to growl softly, "And I shall not be satisfied until I sleep there again."

-----

Thomas' heart was pounding as he saw Fresh Water in the distance, intact and prosperous, looking as if no war could ever touch it. There were small figures over by the barns, and they began running toward the house as they caught sight of him. Out of sheer high spirits, he took Piper over the paddock fence, first in, then out, and continued at the gallop to the front of the house.

A clear young voice, which he knew for Sam's, was calling, "Father! Father! There's a soldier coming!"

__

The gallant young officer returns to the bosom of his family---

Thomas had only a moment for the well-worn fantasy to cross his mind, when reality eclipsed it. Father had come out on the porch, and knew him at once. "Thomas!" His face was lit in welcome, and in a moment Thomas had tumbled out of Piper's saddle and into his father's embrace.

They were all there, crowding around him. Only Susan looked at him doubtfully, until he removed his helmet, and was once again the Thomas she knew. Abigail came from the kitchen, warm and smelling of spices, and hugged and cried over him. Margaret and Nathan patted him fondly. His two little brothers raised the cry, "Did you bring us presents?" 

Thomas smiled. "You'll have to wait for Christmas!" His saddlebags were bursting with presents: a handsome inkstand for Father, clasp knives for the boys, silks for the girls, a soft scarlet shawl for Abigail. He could hardly wait to see their faces. Home had never seemed so wonderful. He turned to his father, and realised that either Father had grown smaller, or Thomas taller, for now he could see the top of Father's head.

Father put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Sam told me a soldier was coming. I see that he was right."

-----

****

**Notes:** Ferguson and Tavington quote from _Much Ado About Nothing._

Readers of _Et In Arcadia Ego_ may wonder why Tavington and his party did not have to camp overnight on the way back to Arcadia. In that story, the trip began in the afternoon, and required an overnight and four hours the next day. For the return trip, Tavington prudently got his party moving early in the morning, and they did not have a large body of civilians on foot accompanying them and so could move much faster.

The Christmas presents that I describe the Wilde girls and Tavington exchanging in _Et Arcadia Ego_ were largely the same in this universe, but for Tavington's gift to Amelia. Rather than a pistol, he gave her a beautiful gold locket. When she opened it, it was empty. There was a place, as Tavington said rather teasingly, "for the picture of your one true love, whoever he may be." She liked it even better than the pistol

Sorry. I got rather carried away, but why write fanfic if you cannot take the time to enjoy it?

Tomyris was the warrior queen of Scythia. See Herodotus for what she did to the Persian King Cyrus. Ick. The mare was a red roan.

I absolutely promise that Cowpens is in the next chapter. It's already written, in fact, and I am now editing.

Thank you to my reviewers: pigeonsfromhell, SlytherinDragoon, Zubeneschamali, nomorebraces, Carolina Girl, LCWA, and Carmen Sandiego. It's very encouraging to know that someone out there is reading this. 


	6. Destiny Among the Cowpens

Disclaimer: No, I do not own the rights to The Patriot

The alternative history of the Revolutionary War continues.....

Chapter 6: Destiny Among the Cowpens

All good things must end. Tavington received a courier from the Lord General, ordering him back to duty. They were going in pursuit of Greene and his army. Tavington, in his turn, sent word to the Martin boy, telling him to report to the Army by January 6th. There would be no twelve days of Christmas. They were lucky to have had Christmas itself.

Never had he returned to duty so reluctantly. Everything had changed. Tavington wondered how much of his recklessness in the past had been the result of simply having nothing to lose. Now he bade farewell to a wife and a family, a beautiful home and a prosperous plantation: a life full of promise.

Most bitter was the loss of the magical nights alone with his bride in their bedchamber, enjoying her remarkable progress in yet another delightful accomplishment. The winter nights were cold, and they nestled warmly together, sharing their plans for the future, whispering endearments, talking with perfect freedom to the other about the simple things of everyday life.

She had taken his premature departure hard, and when relaxing in his arms later that night, had surprised him with a suggestion.

"I could always come with you."

He had been on the verge of sleep, but this startled him into alertness.

"Absolutely not. You and your sisters must stay where you are safe. Besides, you have such plans for refurbishing the house—"

"The girls can stay with Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva again. They'd be perfectly safe there. Of course, Julia, at least, would be delighted to join us on the march."

He turned on his side, trying to read her face in the darkness.

"You are not serious. You cannot be serious. You have no idea what this campaign is going to be like. I'm not sure I do either."

"I want to be with you."

"You shall be," he murmured, "pressing her hand to his heart. "Here." She had tried to object, but he silenced her first with a long, deep kiss; and then, for the second time that night, with long, deep, and urgent love-making.

The next morning, Elizabeth kissed him goodbye on the steps of Arcadia, trying to smile, and above all, trying not to look reproachful. She whispered, "Won't you let me come with you?"

Tavington looked quickly away, trying to control his face. _Yes_, he longed to cry, _I've changed my mind. Pack a bag, have Tomyris saddled, and ride away_ _with me._ She would do it, he knew. He had only to ask.

But he would not ask. He could not expose her to a hitherto unknown world of squalour and privation; a world of filth, blood and disease. She had come close enough to it on the road when she had refugeed to Camden.

He looked down at her, pressed close and sweet against him, breathing her rose-water and her own alluring scent. "No, my love," he whispered back, their lips almost touching. "Where I'm going you can't follow. What I've got to do you can't be any part of. I need to be able think of you and this place, and to remember that I have all this to come home to."

He had returned to the army full of a grim determination to finish the business at hand as quickly as possible. Experiencing a new way of life had put him out of humour with his old. Gone was his earliest incentive as a soldier: the drive to make his fortune. Marriage, rather than battle, had given him all his wished. On reflection, of course, reasons good for continuing his career in the army presented themselves. The war was far from over. He might have acquired Elizabeth and a splendid estate, but he must still keep them safe.

-----

They moved quickly, in the wet and cold of a Carolina January. The Lord General pushed them hard, hoping to trap and crush Greene's regulars. They had left much of the baggage behind. They had left most of the women behind as well. Only Major Ferguson, among the officers, was accompanied by his two mistresses, Sally and Polly; for they had been through so much already in their travels with the Major that they were as fearless as any soldier. Dinah Poole had sobbed when ordered to stay behind, and had seen Thomas off with every expression of kindness a sweet-natured girl of loose morals could provide.

Thomas knew he would miss her. They likely would never meet again. By the time he was back in South Carolina, she would have found another protector, or maybe even a husband. It would be better for her, and, he acknowledged, probably better for him too. He was not ready to settle down, and he disliked dealing with women's tears.

This was the hardest time Thomas had yet experienced in the army. Food was short, and within a few days, everyone was living on cornpone and molasses. He had never minded it at home, but as a steady diet it lacked variety, and soon became tedious and unpleasant.

A greater worry was Gabriel. At Christmas, Father had told him that Gabriel was with Harry Burwell in Greene's army. They seemed destined to meet again, but under the worst of circumstances.

-----

The scouts told him they would make contact with the rebels within the next day. Tavington was concerned that the men were not in the best condition to engage the enemy. The cold and rain, the rapid advance and the half rations were a sure recipe for a sickly army. Major Cochrane, commanding the Legion infantry, was sallow and dispirited: his men were worse. Perhaps a few hours rest tonight would help.

Tavington struggled against his dismal mood. The leafless trees, dripping cold rain; the dank camp smells of latrines, wet wool, campfires, and unpalatable food: all of it seemed particularly unendurable, and he cast about for diversion.

A visit to Pattie Ferguson might lift his spirits. He made his way to the encampment of the American Volunteers. Pattie's tent was lit, and a girl's sweet voice within sang softly:

"Here I sit on Buttermilk Hill,

Who can blame me crying my fill,

And ev'ry tear would turn a mill.

Johnny has gone for a soldier.

Me, oh my, I loved him so,

Broke my heart to see him go,

Only time can ease my woe.

Johnny has gone for a soldier.

I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel,

Likewise I'll sell my spinning wheel,

To buy my love a sword of steel.

Johnny has gone for a soldier.

I'll dye my dress, I'll dye it red,

And through the streets I'll beg my bread,

The lad I love from me has fled.

Johnny has gone for a soldier."

Tavington paused before the tent flap, hearing a murmur of voices, and wondered what state of dress or undress would greet him. "Pattie, are you receiving?"

"Always home to you, laddie! Here, Sally, go bid Colonel Tavington welcome!"

Pretty red-headed Sally parted the flap, smiling, and tugging her bodice up.

"Sit, sit, man," said Pattie, gesturing at a camp stool. "And how about a wee drop on a cold night?"

"I am obliged to you."

Sally served him a glass of brandy, from Pattie's cherished and carefully-packed store. Polly cast him a friendly glance, but was too occupied with braiding Pattie's long hair into a neat queue for much conversation. Tavington accepted the brandy thankfully. Pattie's strange menage was certainly not his own idea of domestic bliss, but his friend seemed to thrive on it. Sally seated herself on the ground by her lover, her bright head resting against his thigh.

Pattie took a sip and remarked, "Finishing up your rounds, I see."

"Just now. The Lord General has pushed the men to their limits. Perhaps he has pushed them beyond them."

"Now that's just Anglo-Saxon gloom. We'll get up in the morning sun, give the men their wee tot o' rum, and they'll fight like heroes. And so will we."

Tavington laughed. "This brandy of yours has me feeling pretty heroic already."

"A man needs his drink and his lasses to fight well," declared Pattie, emphasizing his words with a soft squeeze of Sally's white shoulder. "And then, with a good horse, and a good sword, a gentlemen's education, and a bit of experience in His Majesty's Army—he can conquer the world—with a dollop of luck."

"We'll pray for the all luck we can get." Tavington then spoke gently to Sally. "Was that you I heard singing, Miss Featherstone? You have a sweet voice."

"Thank you kindly, Colonel."

"Aye, that's a thought. Lass, let's have anither, now."

Sally looked back at her sister, who had just finished wrapping the ribbon around Pattie's queue. "Sing with me, Polly."

Ferguson informed his friend, with genial expansiveness. "They sing together, too."

Polly dimpled, "We do everything together." Leaning over, she placed a soft kiss on Pattie's brow.

Sally began, and Polly took up a soft harmony:

"The cruel war is raging, Johnny has to fight,

I want to be with him from morning 'til night.

I want to be with him; it grieves my heart so,

Won't you let me come with you?"

"No, my love, no."

"Tomorrow is Sunday, Monday is the day

That your captain will call you, and you must obey.

Your captain will call you, it grieves my heart so

Won't you let me come with you?

"No, my love, no."

_"I'll tie back my hair, men's clothing I'll put on_

_I'll pass for your comrade as we march along._

_I'll pass for your comrade, no one will ever know._

_Won't you let me come with you?_

_"No, my love, no."_

_"Oh Johnny, oh Johnny, I feel you are unkind._

_I love you far better than all of mankind._

_I love you far better than words can e'er express,_

_Won't you let me come with you?_

_"Yes, my love, yes."_

Tavington thought longingly of Elizabeth, and downed the rest of his brandy. He wondered what it would have been like to have his love here in camp, sharing a tent and a snug army cot; holding her fast in the teeth of death and danger. He gave a small sigh, heard only by Polly; for Pattie and Sally were exchanging a decidedly intimate nuzzle.

Pattie must have caught Tavington's expression from the corner of his eye, for he laughed and broke the kiss. "A bonny song, and well sung, " Pattie said, reaching out to take Polly's hand in his. "But dinna sing the last verse. It seems ill-omened to me."

"Very nice indeed, ladies," agreed Tavington briskly, setting down the glass and getting to his feet. "And a pleasant way to end an evening."

Pattie gave him a wicked grin, his pretty mistresses garlanded about him.

Tavington rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I daresay your evening will _climax_ even more pleasantly. Not all of us have such charming company on campaign, and a song is all the consolation we can hope for. Ladies," he gave them a nod. "Pattie. Sleep well. Good luck tomorrow."

"Aye, and to you, Tavington. Luck in battle, laddie."

------

The battlefield itself was a good one. Cornwallis had chosen his terrain well. The only annoyance was the interminable wait before action. He took a quick look around at the Dragoons. They were looking well, all things considered. He pulled out his telescope to view at battle beyond.

The rebel militia had collapsed again. Tavington, behind much of the army, and waiting for the command to charge, saw that a great deal of their work was already done for them. The Continentals, as usual, were holding well and were certainly no disgrace to the name of soldier, but the militiamen could not face a volley, and were already fleeing west. He sat perfectly still, hoping the Lord General would unleash him soon.

Thomas, on Piper, was close behind Captain Bordon. He wondered if Gabriel was out there, among the regulars. He longed to see him, but not here, and not now. A courier was galloping at top speed to the Colonel. _Surely the Lord General is giving us the order to charge!_

The Colonel took a written message from the young dragoon, and said something to Captain Wilkins that Thomas could not quite catch. The next words the Colonel spoke, however, were loud enough for the entire Legion to hear.

"Prepare to charge!"

Thomas checked his helmet strap and adjusted his grip on the reins, as the dragoons set out at a quick trot. Their own artillery had played havoc with the rebels, as the cannonballs knocked men down like nine-pins. He gave thanks that he was in the cavalry and not standing there, enduring grapeshot and bayonet rushes. Piper moved smoothly, now accustomed to the sound of battle, and carrying him fearlessly toward it.

"Charge!" shouted Tavington, and the dragoons spurred their horses forward. The rebels fired a volley in their direction, and troopers toppled from their horses.

Many horses would not charge a bayonet, but the rebel regulars had been softened up by the artillery barrage, and by the musket volleys of the Legion infantry, the 33rd Regiment, and Ferguson's well-trained American Volunteers. The rebel ranks were thinning, as the dead and wounded fell, and the dragoons found plenty of openings to ride through. They hacked at the infantry, as the men tried to parry the sabres with their muskets. Horses were stabbed, rebels cut down. Here and there a dragoon was pulled from his horse and dispatched with bayonets or musket butt.

Thomas was slashing with now professional skill. A twist of the wrist, and the blade flashed down into one of the standard cuts. He had learned to be objective, and not wince in sympathy as his sword laid open a man's face, smashing away some teeth. He stayed alert, watching for careless comrades who would strike out at a fellow dragoons in the heat of battle. The rebels' resistance was wilting, overwhelmed with the force arrayed against it; and the dragoons plowed through the ranks, scything men down like ripe wheat.

Still, some of the Continentals were holding firm, in little pockets of resistance. Captain Bordon had spied one such group, and headed toward them, with Thomas and some other dragoons close behind, sabres at the ready. Thomas could see that there was an officer among them, waving the rebel flag, trying to rally his men. Rebels always targeted British officers, and Thomas decided it was time to return the favour.

The officer saw him coming. He had something in his other hand. There was a sharp crack, and Thomas had hardly a moment to realise that a pistol had been fired, when suddenly Captain Bordon was falling sideways from his horse, nearly falling into Thomas. Thomas swerved to avoid a crash, and saw that his captain was badly wounded. Furious at the rebels, Thomas shouted at the dragoons, "Follow me!"

The rebel officer was only yards away and could never reload in time. Before Thomas realised what the man intended, he was riding into the rebel's flag, held like a lance. There was a tearing jolt. Piper shrilled a wild scream and fell to the ground, thrashing in agony.

Thomas was falling, but it seemed to last forever. Then he hit the ground himself with a stunning impact and saw only black for a second. He came to himself sluggishly, and staggered to his feet, knowing it was death to lie there helpless. Which way was the enemy? Piper was dead now, lying distorted and still, with a rebel flagstaff impaling him. Thomas felt a pang for his faithful friend.

There was the sound of a pistol cocking, and Thomas whirled instinctively. He was only twenty feet from the rebel officer who looked down the barrel at him with narrowed eyes. Thomas, in a flash of imagination, saw himself dead, saw his heart-broken father mourning over his limp body, saw himself laid out at home for burial. _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori._

The rebel officer, his wheat-coloured hair loose from its queue, suddenly checked himself with a start. Thomas knew he had seen hair disarranged like that before, but where? _Oh, no!_

"You damned fool," he screamed at Gabriel, "you've killed Piper! _What's the matter with you?"_

One moment Thomas was looking Death in the face: the next moment, his brother was gripping a slashed shoulder. Colonel Tavington had come to Thomas' aid, and was turning his horse, to charge back on the enemy and finish him.

Thomas ran, limping, between Gabriel and his commander, trying to stop any further bloodshed.

"No, sir!" he cried, his voice cracking with anguish. "Please, sir, don't kill him! He's my brother!" Gabriel stumbled and fell, sprawling on the bloody grass.

Tavington, in mid slash, paused to look at the enemy. He had not known until this moment that Martin had a brother with the rebels. The blond boy on the ground was dazed, squinting up at him. He still had his pistol, and Tavington was not going to risk his own life needlessly.

Tavington said grimly, "Drop your weapon, sir." The wounded man, stubborn to the last, was trying to aim at him, the pistol wobbling in his unsteady hand. "Drop it or I'll kill you." His own young officer groaned and shook his head.

"Please, Gabriel! Just drop it. The war is over for you."

The pistol dropped from nerveless fingers, and Gabriel fell back on the grass. Thomas knelt beside him and took him in his arms. His brother's eyes fluttered closed, as he fainted from shock and loss of blood.

Tavington looked down from his tall horse. "Your brother."

"Yes, sir."

Tavington sighed, and looked about the battlefield, taking in the situation. "Mr. Martin, I still have an enemy to pursue. You are to take charge of that enemy officer and see that he does not escape." Without another word, Tavington kicked his mount into a gallop, and led the Dragoons away, off on the hunt for the fleeing rebels.

Well, at least he didn't seem angry with me, Thomas thought. And Gabriel is alive.

The field surgeons' wagon was lumbering across the battlefield, collecting the wounded. Thomas shouted, "Mr. Jackson! Over here!"

Rob Jackson called back, "One of the enemy?"

"Yes, but have a look at Captain Bordon, over there, too. I think he must be badly wounded."

Jackson slid from the wagon seat, and picked his way over to the unmoving dragoon captain. He knelt down, and felt for a pulse.

"No, sir," he said heavily. "Not badly wounded. He's dead."

-----

It was a famous victory. Greene's army had been rolled up—smashed—crushingly defeated. The fragmented remnants were scattered: Both Greene and Burwell had been captured.

Cornwallis, O'Hara, and the rest of the commanders were in the highest spirits. The great aim of the Southern campaign was close to realisation. With the rebel army in the southern colonies destroyed, there was nothing stopping an advance into Virginia, the heart of the rebellion. Cornwallis told his officers that Sir Henry Clinton in New York would be sending an expeditionary force under General Phillips into Virginia, to divert rebel resources and undermine their strongholds there. When the two British forces met, they would be unstoppable.

Tavington and Ferguson had held their own celebration a few days after the battle. The victory had been bittersweet for Tavington. He had lost a good friend and useful officer in Hugh Bordon. His death, compassed with dreadful irony by the brother of one of Bordon's own officers, was a blow: and all the port, the brandy, and finally the whisky that Pattie poured into him, could not dispel his conviction that this was a loss that he feel even more poignantly in time to come.

Pattie had lost some officers too: the most notable from Tavington's point of view being a cousin of his wife's. Elizabeth's cousin Frank Montgomery had been eviscerated by grapeshot, and died in agony a day after the battle. Naturally, Ferguson, though he had despised Montgomery as incompetent, had written a letter of condolence to the widow, telling her that her husband had "died immediately, and suffered no pain." Tavington knew Charlotte Montgomery well himself, since she had also refugeed to Camden, and stayed with Elizabeth and her sisters in the house of their mutual great-aunt, Miss Everleigh. He had therefore written his own letter to her, colluding in Pattie's merciful lie.

Pattie poured himself another whisky, already swaying slightly on his feet. "I'm sorry indeed for the widow and her six orphaned bairns, but I canna feel sorry for the loss of Montgomery---the great gowk! I'll put a better man in his place."

Tavington had vainly hoped that drinking spirits would raise his, and the two of them had gotten uncharacteristically drunk that night. The situation had finally gotten so far out of hand that Pattie had smilingly pushed the agreeable Polly his way, and Tavington had been on the point of enjoying his friend's generosity, when he had passed out, dead drunk, on the floor of the tent. The two men had been wretchedly sick the next day; and the two girls amused and abashed at their own wantonness. Tavington vowed abstention from spirits until the end of the war. Ferguson, though not willing to go that far, agreed that "perhaps there might be anither, safer way to purge melancholy." The two rumpled girls had exchanged discreet, knowing glances.

"I'm going to miss him, Pattie," Tavington finally confessed, his head in his hands, sitting miserably on the edge of the cot.

"Of course you will, laddie," Ferguson said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Friends come and go throughout our lives. It's an ill thing to be mortal, and to love other mortals; but they are all we have. I am sorry for poor Bordon myself: he was a good man. Now he'll live only in our memories. So," he concluded, "let us remember him well."

------

The Colonel told Thomas that Gabriel might go home to Fresh Water, as soon as his brother had given his parole and was well enough to ride south. The army moved on to Charlotte, where it was well-supplied with foodstuffs, and billeted warmly. Thomas visited his brother every day in the hospital, and they talked of home, of Father, and of fishing in the creek; but there was a wall between them. Gabriel found defeat a bitter thing, and the sight of his younger brother, dressed in the enemy's scarlet, irritated his already strained nerves. Thomas, grieving over the death of his admired and kindly captain, and grieved as well (though he was almost ashamed to own it) by the loss of his horse, felt as much resentment as compassion toward his brother.

Conversation lagged, and finally stopped. At last, Thomas thought of diverting his brother by reading to him. He borrowed a copy of _Robinson Crusoe,_ and hearing of the castaway's troubles seemed to ease Gabriel's own. Relenting a little, he produced a packet of letters and gave a few of them to Thomas, to read out loud to him. The penmanship was a little difficult to decipher, but Thomas tried to do justice to Anne Howard's letters of love and hope. At Gabriel's dictation, a letter was written to Father, telling him that he would soon be home, a paroled prisoner of war; and another letter was composed and posted to Anne Howard.

Charlotte, North Carolina

January 31, 1781

My dearest Anne,

Words cannot express the sum of my grief and disappointment. The war is indeed over for me. I was wounded and taken captive at the Battle of the Cowpens on the seventeenth of January. The Continentals fought bravely, but were at last overwhelmed by the ferocity and skill of the enemy, and by the slack pusillanimity of our own militia. They largely fled without firing a shot.

My wound is not dangerous, and I have had the best of care. My brother, Thomas, serves as an officer in Tavington's Green Dragoons, and successfully rescued me from the very sword of Tavington himself. Had he not done so, the Butcher of the Carolinas would have claimed another life. I was forced to give my parole, and if Providence be merciful, I shall be returning home within a fortnight.

The British and their Tory allies have pushed on, and I feel certain that they are poised to strike at the Patriots to the north. Their onslaught will be swift and merciless, and the future of us all hangs in the balance. Would that I could still do my part!

I long to see you, yet I fear you may find you have made a bad bargain in me. I detest the idea of living under a tyranny, and know not where I shall find the free land of which I have dreamed. If South Carolina is indeed fated to bear the British yoke, I must forswear it utterly. I cannot ask you to come with me, but if you can endure separation from all you have known, I shall endeavour to make you a happy woman as my wife.

Your most devoted,

Gabriel

Within another two weeks, Gabriel set off on his journey home, on a horse bought for him by Thomas. The brothers shook hands in a civil enough way, but it was clear that the essential bond between them had been sundered forever. Thomas wondered what Father would say to Gabriel; and quailed at the thought of what he might say to Thomas himself someday. He suspected it would be rather worse than the rebukes he had received in years past, when he had caught Gabriel and Thomas fighting. _Or perhaps,_ he thought_, he will be so glad that we both survived, he won't think to scold us._

He watched his brother out of sight, mourning for many things: for the death of Captain Bordon, for the rupture with his brother, for the loss of Piper. His horse had been replaced by an army-issue plug not worthy of Piper's tack. In fact, he had cut some strands from Piper's tail, and braided a thin cord to keep. Maybe it was foolish, but Piper had carried him long and well all the way from home, and Thomas did not mean to forget him.

A little later, Sam Willett came by to invite him for a game of chequers. Thomas accepted gratefully, and the two boys sat quietly over the board, wondering who would replace Captain Bordon and what the new officer would be like.

"Maybe it'll be Lieutenant Monroe," Thomas suggested.

"Don't think so." Sam shook his head. "I don't think he's held his lieutenancy long enough to be promoted. Likely it'll be someone we don't know."

Thomas sat still a minute, and burst out, "I hate Captain Bordon being dead! Do you think the men hold it against me?"

Sam looked up at him in surprise.

"Why?" He remembered. "Oh, because of your brother! I don't see how—it's not your fault, is it?"

"Maybe it is," Thomas mumbled. Gathering his courage, he confided in Sam. "A long time ago, before I joined the Green Dragoons, Gabriel was carrying dispatches, and I saved him from being captured by the British. Now I wish I'd let just him be captured. If I had, everything would have been all right. Gabriel would have been a prisoner, or already home on parole, and Captain Bordon would still be alive."

Sam stared at him, and then said thoughtfully. "You can't blame yourself. Nobody can guess the future. You did what you thought was best. Maybe it was just Captain Bordon's time. We'll never know."

"No," admitted Thomas, sick with remorse. "We never will."

-----

****

**Notes**: In my alternate universe, the next big battle after King's Mountain would probably not have taken place near Hannah's Cow Pens, but somewhere further north and east. However, it's my universe, and I like the parallelism of having the battle at a familiar place. Ben Martin, of course, is not there to lend his advice and skill at arms. Cornwallis, contrary to history, is; because my alternate universe here follows the film.

The last verse of _The Cruel War,_ which Pattie did not want to hear, is this:

__

_They marched into battle, she never left his side_

_"Til a bullet shell struck her and love was denied._

_A bullet shell stuck her, tears came to Johnny's eyes._

_As he knelt down beside her, she silently died._

_Dulce et decorum, etc_, is a quote from Horace. _It is sweet and honourable to die for one's country._

_Gowk--fool_

Giving one's parole meant that the prisoner of war gave his word not to take up arms again. An officer who had given his parole was allowed to go home, and not be imprisoned. A great many officers who gave their parole actually kept it. It was, if not a simpler, certainly a more honourable time.

Thank you to my reviewers: pigeonsfromhell, Carolina Girl, Zubeneschamali, angelfish23, nomorebraces, and ladymarytavington. Your kind comments give me what it takes to go on!

And what is the effect of the British victory on the Continental Congress and on British public opinion? Wait for the next chapter!


	7. Destiny's InterludeCorrespondence

__

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Patriot, nor do that film's producers own the rights to this story. So there_.

News from home 

Chapter 7: Destiny's Interlude-- Correspondence

The Whigs in Parliament had been silenced, if only for a moment. News of Cornwallis' victory at the Cowpens was the talk of London. An unpopular war still could have its heroes, and the earl's personal opposition to the measures that had sparked the rebellion were well known. Cornwallis, at the moment, was the most popular man in England.

So said the _Gazette_, fresh off the packet from Liverpool only a week ago. Tavington read through the paper with some interest. There was pressure from many interests to bring the war in the Colonies to a swift conclusion. The French, mindful of the British victories, had backed off from risking any more land forces. Their navy, however, was still harassing the West Indian sugar planters. These gentlemen wanted the full power of the Royal Navy brought to bear on the French. That, of course, could not happen while the colonists were still in arms against the Crown.

"Another round, sir?"

"What?" Tavington looked up. He had been so intent on the newspaper that he had not heard Wilkins immediately. "Oh, yes, I thank you."

Wilkins waved down the red-faced barmaid, and within minutes the crowd of officers at the table had foaming pints before them.

"Good news?"

Tavington passed him the newspaper. "Good enough for us. We're not being left to twist slowly in the wind. With the campaign in the South going so well, we'll be well supplied for the time being. We're also getting some reinforcements."

"Not before time," Richard Hovenden said sharply. Hovenden was senior captain of the Dragoons now, and pushing hard for promotion. With the added troops in the Legion since Cowpens, there was no doubt the Dragoons could use a major, but that was beyond Tavington's power. He had written the recommendation to the Lord General, and it was in his hands. Tavington hoped they would have a decision shortly.

The grubby little public house here in Halifax, North Carolina, was like every other grubby little public house since Cowpens. The quartermaster got them billeted as best he could. They had done better at some of the big plantation houses along the way, but a soldier learned to bear privations on the march. The Green Dragoons were nearly a week in advance of the rest of Cornwallis' army, securing the bridge over the Roanoke. This was to be their gateway into Virginia. Their next mission was to find General Phillips' expeditionary force and join with them. There had been no word of a rebel advance. Possibly Clinton had them fully occupied in New Jersey.

His captains were already settling down for another evening of cards, women, and liquor. Tavington had long ago pledged to risk only his life, never his money. Somewhat unsteadily, he headed up the rough wooden stairs to his dank little room. At least there was a fire there, and Tavington slumped wearily into a hard, high-backed chair before it.

Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a worn letter, and read it over by the wavering firelight.

__

_Arcadia_

_March 17th, 1781_

_My dearest William_,

__

_I pray this letter reaches you. Having not heard from you in so long, I feared our correspondence has gone astray. We are all quite well, and hope that your difficulties are not too great to bear. Work on the house continues apace. The labourers from Charlestown arrived safely, and Julia is now happier with her room. She wants to tell you all about that herself, however._

_Amelia has been restless since the Christmas holidays, and I did not want her to feel a prisoner in her own home. She has often begged me to send her to Charlestown to study drawing, and with the roads so quiet, and the situation so well in hand, I wrote my old friend Caroline Pinckney, asking her if the school we attended together was still in operation. She wrote back a very kind letter, inviting Amelia to stay with her at her mother's house. Even more generously, she and her brother came and took Amelia back to Charlestown with them. It was so very pleasant to see them after so long, but I regretted that you were not here to meet them. Caroline's brother, Stephen deLancey, told me that the two of you had become acquainted in Charlestown last autumn, at Lord Cornwallis' ball. I am so pleased. The DeLanceys and Pinckneys are some of my oldest friends, and I know you will find them good friends as well. It was particularly kind of them to spare me a journey which would have been most disagreeable in my present condition_

_No, my dearest, I am not ill. I have some very good news that I know will please you as much as it has delighted me._

_Whether Amelia is home by the time you return or not, you will not find the house empty. A little stranger is coming to live with us sometime in September. The girls were thrilled, and between the three of us, the baby's linen was finished in no time at all. I have been refurbishing the nursery. It was provident that Julia's room was redone to her satisfaction, for it prevented a great deal of sulking about moving the last of her personal possessions out of the nursery. I moved the small pianoforte from the nursery into her room, so the little one will not damage it when he starts walking. I had to spend some time retuning and caring for that poor instrument, which has seen its share of travels!_

_Amelia was very excited about going to stay in Charlestown, and of course she will like living in the DeLanceys' lovely home better than attending school. I arranged that she would have music lessons as well as visits from the drawing master, so I felt I could give up my role in her education honourably. With the house, the plantation, Julia and her antics, and now the newcomer, Amelia and her moods were more than I could manage._

_As to the estate itself, the restocking goes on. The new dairymaid is proving a treasure, and with the spring, we will once again be completely self-sufficient in that regard. I rode out to look over the work on the twenty acres near the swamp (yes, my love, I was very careful, and Gideon rode with me the entire time. Besides Tomyris would never be so ill-bred as to hurt me) and it is going well. It will certainly be ready for cultivation this year, and I talked to Mr. Hamilton about the reparations. I have everything perfectly under control, and you need not worry about the plantation at all. I helped my mother manage it for years, have managed it successfully alone, and I foresee no difficulty continuing to do so._

_Oh! I heard through a friend of a friend that Gabriel Martin is home with Mr. Martin at Fresh Water, and that he was recently married. Perhaps now he will settle down and forget all of his nonsense, but I am not sanguine; for I was told that his bride, the shopkeeper Howard's daughter, is as red-hot a rebel as he. Easy enough for a girl who need fear nothing herself to urge men to their deaths! At any rate, they are all living at Fresh Water, and Mr. Martin will see that Mr. Gabriel honours his parole._

_Give my regards to young Mr. Thomas. He is a sweet boy, and I cannot forget his charming gallantry to Amelia. Perhaps it is as well that she does; for though she read whole novels into his behaviour, it was plain to me that it was good manners and a little flirting on his side, and nothing more. I am glad that he was not badly hurt at the Cowpens, but I am still melancholy when I think about good Captain Bordon, and his unhappy fate. I had hoped that he might settle in these parts. The Crawford plantation has been confiscated, you know, and may be put up at auction. If I had a little more capital, I would seriously consider trying to acquire it. There is some wonderfully fertile land there, down by the river, and a fine grove of cypresses._

_If only the wretched rebels would give over, and the war could end! I so want you home with me. I miss our happy days together, and our sweet nights, though perhaps it is just as well that you do not see me when my condition begins to alter my appearance. I love you the better for your devotion to duty, but still wish vainly for a conclusion to all of these alarms._

_Give my regards also to dear Cousin James. I know you think him a blockhead, but he really is not, and he is very devoted to you. Please be kind to him, for I have so little family left, that it is all precious to me. I received a letter from Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva. Charlotte is still utterly prostrate with grief, and it is fortunate that I arranged a governess for the girls and a tutor for George, because Charlotte hardly pays them any mind at all. I think Aunt is not very well, for the letter was more affectionate than usual, and her handwriting nearly illegible. She asked me to remember her to you, and spoke very respectfully of your good sense and ability, and not so respectfully of your great good looks. She wrote that knowing you was one of the last great pleasures of her life. I am so glad she gave you the Everleigh ring for our wedding, so we will always have a token of her regard. It is very selfish of me, but I hope she is with us for a good while to come, for I have no idea what to do about Charlotte and the little Montgomerys if Aunt is no longer there to care for them!_

_My dearest, I conclude now, thinking of you, and picturing you vividly in my mind's eye. I am always and forever yours, and implore you to guard yourself: not just for my sake alone, but also for our child who will need you, as I do. God keep you, my dearest husband._

Your loving,

Elizabeth

Tavington once again seriously considered resigning his commission. Elizabeth was going to bear his child, and he most probably would not be there to welcome it into the world. She was working hard to secure their future, and he was no help to her. She was raising her sister, carrying a child, running a household and managing a plantation, and he was sitting in an unclean little hole of a room, hundreds of miles away. If at that moment he could have laid his hands on George Washington, Sam Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and the whole lot of those disturbers of the peace, not one would have escaped alive.

Amelia's little note was folded inside Elizabeth letter, and was evidently scrawled in such haste, and in such a state of ecstasy that he could barely make it out. 

March 12th

Arcadia

Dearest Colonel Tavington

I hope you are well and safe. I am very very well and I am going to Charlestown today. I am hastily writing this note to give to Lilabet so she can send it on when she finishes her own letter. I am not going to school, but to stay with our friends, Mrs DeLancey and her daughter Mrs Pinckney, who went to school with Lilabet, and Judge DeLancey who is Mrs Pinckneys brother and who was so kind to make it all possible by coming all the way here and back so I would not have to travel without an escort. Judge DeLancey and Mrs Pinckney are delightful and I am to study drawing and music and stay with them and Mrs Pinckney says that her mother will very likely give a dinner to welcome me and possibly there will be dancing, which I most ardently hope.

I helped Lilabet with baby linen, and Julia will say she helped, but she was really very tiresome and troublesome and she made horrid beetroot dye which she dripped all over everything and spoiled my best Irish linen fichu and my handkerchiefs, and Lilabet had to let me take some of hers and I have never been so angry in my life.

Do guard yourself well, dear brother, and I pray that I shall see you before the year is out. Had we but world enough and time, as the poet says, I should write more, but the horses are waiting.

Your affectionate sister,

Amelia Wilde

Tavington had indeed met Stephen DeLancey at Cornwallis' ball in Charlestown about a month after the Battle of Camden, and the two men had not taken to one another at all. Tavington was not yet secure of Elizabeth's affections at the time, and had not welcomed a rival. DeLancey was clearly of the opinion that Tavington was in no way good enough for Elizabeth, and Tavington suspected he was the source of the rumours that Tavington was a heartless fortune hunter who had ensnared the gullible Miss Wilde for her property and fortune. There was nothing he could say, no defense he could make against such cruel and untrue gibes. His future conduct and his obvious affection and respect for his wife would have to speak for him, but that would take time. 

Now Amelia was off to live with the DeLanceys. Tavington could only hope they were well bred enough not to demean him to his own sister-in-law. At least Amelia would have something to think about other than Thomas Martin, who was already so much forgotten as to not even be mentioned in her little letter.

He pulled little Julia's letter out as well, hoping it would lighten his mood.

March 17th

Dearest Colonel Tavington,

I guess you know about the baby. When Lilabet started sewing all those little things, we figured it out, and Melly squealed so it nearly burst my ears, but I know now that babies are work. We all helped make the baby linen, though, and some of it was fun. Lilabet let me embroider the caps I made however I liked. She taught me to knit booties, and I made a pair and she let me dye them purple. I got scolded because somehow the dye got on some other things, but they are mostly clean now. Lilabet made me say sorry to Melly.

My room is beautiful. Lilabet agreed that I was old enough to have a real young lady's room, since the nursery is going to be taken over by "the little stranger." I think that is an odd expression. We'll probably get to know him pretty well. I shall be a good aunt, and tell him whenever he does anything wrong, just like Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva does. Anyway, my room is so nice. The dirty wall has been washed, and then covered with pretty rose silk, and the floor was scrubbed and scrubbed, but nothing could get rid of the horrid stains, so Lilabet bought a Turkey carpet for my room. It makes it look exotic, which is a good word I just learned. She moved the little pianoforte into my room, too. She says she doesn't want the baby banging on it, but I suspect it is also so I will practice more.

Melly has gone to Charlestown to study music and art. I miss her sometimes, but sometimes she was hard to get along with. I know I am not supposed to criticise my sister, but that is only to strangers, and since you are my brother now, and I can talk about her to you behind her back all I like. Lilabet says Melly's head is full of romance. I guess that doesn't leave room for much else. Anyway, Lilabet's school friend Mrs. Pinckney and her brother Judge deLancey came and took Melly to Charlestown with them. Melly will have lessons, but I expect she'll go to parties and balls mostly now that she is out. Miss Pinckney asked Lilabet if I would like to come too, but Lilabet saw my face, and told Mrs. Pinckney I would appresh—that I would like it better when I am older. I didn't like Judge deLancey much. Melly told me that he and Lilabet used to be engaged and that he would have liked to marry her himself, but I said ha! Because she's married to you and now that the baby is coming not even a judge can do anything about it.

Lilabet says Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva is in a decline. I didn't know what that meant at first, because she never leaves the house. I wonder if she has a made a will, because that is what people who die do, and they leave their worldly possessions to others. I am afraid that if Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva dies she will leave us the Montgomerys. Arcadia is very big, but I am not sure that it is big enough for that. If Cousin James were not with you, he could take care of them, because George and Jane and Mary all like him. I like him too, and I would like him even more if he could do that. Give him my best love, but I guess you will have to say that in a more manly way.

I can't think of any else to say, except to not let the rebels get you. Also, I wish you would come home as soon as you can. Going riding is more fun when you are here. We miss you, and talk about all sorts of things we might do when you come home for good.

Your most affectionate sister,

Julia Wilde

Tavington folded the letters carefully, and replaced them in his pocket. It was so hard to be away and not know what was happening. When the letters had first arrived, three days ago, he had passed on the news to Wilkins, who was concerned about his Aunt, and even more about the fatherless children of his cousin. Tavington had unbent to the degree of reading a little of Julia's letter aloud, though not the part that concerned Wilkins directly, of course.

Wilkins knew no more than Tavington about what to do. The family had no other close male relatives other than themselves; so who could act in the case of Miss Everleigh's death was a real question. Wilkins said the family lawyer was trustworthy; but in the end, something would have to be done for the Montgomerys, and Tavington grimly acknowledged that the lot of them would probably end up on Arcadia's doorstep.

-----

Thomas was sharing a room at the same inn with Sam Willett and Billy Miller, the cornet with Captain Hovenden's troop. It was a dispiriting business, crowding into the one lumpy bed, and they drew cards for the unlucky victim who must lie in the middle, but there was no help for it. Thomas would almost rather pitch his own little tent, but that was not possible in their situation here in Halifax.

He was not particularly happy with his new commander, Captain James, and he guessed that Lieutenant Monroe was not, either. The lieutenant had said something that indicated a transfer within the Legion was in the offing, and if his Lieutenant were transferred, Thomas hoped he would be going with him. Captain James was very stiff-necked; not trusting the Lieutenant's judgment the way Captain Bordon always had.

Thomas missed the Captain horribly, and could not shake a feeling of guilt about his fate. He would never forgive Gabriel, and while he missed Father and Fresh Water, he had no desire to return and try to live at peace with his rebellious older brother.

Sam spoke up, his voice startling loud, as he spoke in Thomas' ear. "You know why the quartermaster has us all crowded into this room together?"

Billy Miller, nearly asleep, mumbled, "No, Sam, why?"

"He's in league with the paymaster, who's late with our money. If we're crushed together in this disgusting little room, there's no room to entertain the ladies, and if there's no room to entertain the ladies, we don't need our money. And if we're not clamouring for our money, the paymaster can get away without paying us in full. That's what I think."

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. Don't accuse Lieutenant Hovenden of embezzlement. I'm sure he would never embarrass the brother his Captain like that."

"You don't know him like I do. The Captain's all right, but his brother Moore is a bad lot. That's the worst of life in the Army: putting up with superiors who are idiots or worse."

Thomas was too tired for the discussion. "I'm trying to sleep here. You two can continue this discussion tomorrow morning. Good night."

"Your such a Goody Two Shoes, Thomas," Billy said. "I agree with Sam that it makes it difficult—"

Thomas sat up and rolled out of bed. "I can't do this," he said, throwing on his uniform. "I'm going out for a walk. I expect it to be quiet in here when I get back."

"All the more room for us," said Sam, equably.

"Maybe room for company," speculated Billy. "If you move over a few more inches, Sam, and turn your back, I could go look for that Betsy---"

Thomas was out the door, still buttoning his waistcoat. He needed quiet and rest, and Billy Miller did not know the meaning of the words. He went downstairs, and walked out into the cool night air, glad to be alone with his thoughts. He had just received a letter from Father, and needed time to digest all the news. The paper in his pocket made a crinkling sound as he patted it. He would have to reply soon, and was not sure what to say.

His father had written:

March 12th, 1781

Fresh Water, South Carolina

My dear son,

I pray that you are safe and unhurt. We are all well here, but for Nathan's carelessness in the horse paddock last week that left him with a dislocated shoulder. It was set right, and is healing, but it was a painful lesson in respecting horses' tempers.

Susan has started talking: it started shortly after Gabriel returned home. She is a mysterious little girl, and keeps much to herself, but at last I am beginning to understand her a little.

Gabriel and Anne Howard were married at Pembroke church three days ago. They are deeply in love, and it is good for the place to have a mistress again. She has taken charge of the household, and Abigail finds she has much to do to discharge her duties to Mrs. Gabriel's satisfaction. Gabriel is nearly restored to perfect health now, which is why the wedding could at last go forward.

As you can imagine, Gabriel is not happy about having given his parole. After expressing my views last night, I believe both he and Anne will not bring up the subject again, but I cannot control what they say to one another when alone. You know that I have always sympathised with the Patriots. While I feel the war has been a disaster, I cannot fault those who saw injustice in England's rule and tried to find a new and freer way. As Gabriel pointed out, the war is not over, however quiet things are now in the Carolinas. The same injustices that sparked the war still continue. If the King truly wants peace, he will have to bring more than a sword to the Colonies.

I have recently heard from my friend Harry Burwell. You may have heard that he refused to give his parole, and is a prisoner in Charlestown. While I honour my old friend's unflinching principles, I am very glad that Gabriel did not follow his example. I will be even happier when you too are no longer in danger.

However Gabriel and Anne feel, and whatever their views, nothing changes the fact that you are still my son, and will have a home under my roof as long as I live. I will have no civil wars here at Fresh Water. You both performed your duty honourably, and you also showed true brotherly devotion, by saving Gabriel from Colonel Tavington. Gabriel knows that he owes you his life, and will not allow Anne to criticise you, I am sure.

I have received word from a fellow assemblyman that some peace overtures are being made. He was unable to give his authority, and I can only pray that this is not a false hope.

Your other sisters and brothers often ask about you. Now that Gabriel is home, they wonder why you too have not returned. I know that you are following your dreams, and I hope they are all you imagined, but remember that there are dreams to be found at home as well.

Your very loving,

Father

Thomas leaned back against the log wall of the little public house, thinking of home. His breath made a little white mist in the frosty air. From an upstairs window, he heard the rutting of a fellow officer---Lieutenant Davis from the incoherent noises—and one of the barmaids. _Bad luck for you, Billy_, he thought wryly. He wondered if Dinah was all right and well cared for, wherever she was. The women of the British Legion were mostly in Camden with the garrison there. _She's probably already forgotten me._ He felt sudden, overwhelming sadness at the idea. He missed her; he missed the times they had had together. He found the idea of taking up with a strange woman in any of the anonymous little towns they went through rather nasty and unappealing. Whatever he and Dinah had been to each other, at some level they had liked and cared for each other_. Maybe marriage might not be so bad someday._

That would have to wait. Colonel Tavington had stated unambiguously that he thought no officer under the rank of captain should marry. While some women would be willing to live on less, it was not fair to drag a decent woman around without providing decently for her. If the war continued, there might be promotion ahead. If Gabriel was to be securely ensconced in Fresh Water, Thomas would need to further his career in the Army. Whatever Father said, a visit under a roof already sheltering Gabriel and Anne could only be uncomfortable for everyone. Living there permanently was manifestly impossible. 

-----

****

**Notes**: It's true: Cornwallis voted against the Stamp Act in. Parliament.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: LCWA, nomorebraces, pigeonsfromhell, Zubeneschamali, Slytherin Dragoon, ladymarytavington, and Carolina Girl. I can't do it without you.

Nest chapter**: Destiny in Virginia**


	8. Destiny in Virginia

_Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never did. Blame somebody else._

The British Legion campaigns in Virginia, and talk of peace is in the air.  
  
**Chapter 8: Destiny in Virginia**

It was difficult to come to grips with the enemy, when the enemy kept slipping away, and setting up a government elsewhere.

When Cornwallis' army finally joined with the force under General Phillips, the Lord General found himself in command of a respectable little army. Phillips' ill health caused much of the daily duties of his command to devolve on his subordinate, General Benedict Arnold. Opinion in the British Legion was divided about Arnold. He was an able man, certainly; and he was not despised for being of American birth—that would be been absurd, given that most the soldiers of the Legion were either American born themselves, or had immigrated before the war. Arnold however, had begun the war on the side of the rebels. He had changed his mind—or, rumour had it, his pretty young wife had changed it for him—and his new-found loyalties and arrogance sat ill with men who had held faith with the King from the beginning.

The war was going well. Sir Henry Clinton had the Continental army pinned down in New York. The success of the southern campaign had revived the Loyalists of the middle colonies. Much of the Legion hailed from New York and Pennsylvania, and they were an eager audience for stories of Loyalist militias, throwing the rebel governments of those colonies into chaos.

"I reckon your family must be in the thick of it," Thomas remarked to Sam Willett, as they set the pickets for the night. They were in Petersburg, and the locals, while not vocally unfriendly, seemed to be watching their every move with narrowed eyes.

Sam laughed bitterly. "My family will stick their collective noses in the air and hold themselves above it all."

Thomas looked at him, not understanding. "But you and your cousin—" Sam's cousin Walter was a lieutenant in the Dragoons, and Thomas had always assumed that they came from a staunch Loyalist family.

Sam looked away from the fire, and made a face. "My family are Quakers. Didn't you know?"

"No. I never would have guessed. I mean—"

"You mean Walter and I don't _thee and thou_, and pretend that the war has nothing to do with us?"

Thomas felt himself blushing in the darkness. "I suppose so. I don't know much about Quakers."

"Count yourself lucky. When Walter and I went for soldiers, we were testified against in the meeting house."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, dear old Tom, that we were run out of the Society of Friends. 'Since they have entered into the war, and as War is so Inconsistent with Friends' Testimony, it is the sense of this meeting that they be immediately testified against.' The lot of them pulled long faces and turned their backs on us. Walter and I shook the dust of Bucks County from our feet, and we've never looked back. They can rot, the hypocrites: making their fortunes selling supplies to whichever side will pay the most!"

"I'm sorry," Thomas offered. He was so wrapped up in his own family troubles that he sometimes forgot what many of his fellow dragoons had sacrificed to serve the King.

"It's worse for Walter," Sam said. "He left a wife and children behind. His wife testified against him with the rest. He's written to her, but she never answers. There's Christian charity for you!"

"What do you think you'll do when the war is over?"

"I don't know. Do think the war ever _will_ be over?"

Thomas gave a short laugh. "It can't last forever. So I guess you won't be going back to Pennsylvania."

"Not likely. I don't know—the Crown has land for the taking. They want settlers up in Nova Scotia, and in the West Indies. Maybe some of the confiscated estates in the Carolinas might be parceled out. You'll go home, I suppose?"

"Probably not. My older brother is there with his new wife. Father says I'll always have a home with him, but I can't forget how Gabriel joined the rebels and how he killed Captain Bordon. I just don't see how things can ever be right between us again. Besides, I like life in the Army."

"Well then, you could marry the Colonel's sister-in-law. She's a pretty little thing, and she sure had her eye on you!"

"Stop it. The Colonel would never stand for it. I'm not exalted enough in rank to suit him, and I couldn't support a wife on a cornet's pay."

"Don't be a simpleton. A girl like that must have a fortune of her own—maybe as much as five thousand pounds, I'd say. You could live like kings on that. Just get her to run off with you!"

Thomas laughed. "We'd have to run pretty fast. The Colonel's about the last man I'd want coming after me."

Sam shrugged. "I guess you're right."

They began the walk back to the house where they were billeted. A small brick house, owned by an elderly widow with a fat little lapdog. They were fairly well-behaved under her roof, but Mrs Fletcher stared at them with bulging eyes, as if she expected them to draw their swords and attack her at any moment.

She was peering out the front window, the candle in her hand lighting her face like a grotesque mask. The horrible little dog, Marlborough, started yelping hysterically. Thomas and Sam looked grimly at each other and went up the walk.

"She always makes us knock." Sam complained.

Dutifully, Thomas knocked. After a moment, a rasping voice called from behind the door. "Who's there?" The dog whined, and started its shrill barking again.

Sam smirked and called back, "Cornet Sam Willett and Cornet Thomas Martin of His Majesty's Green Dragoons reporting, Mrs Fletcher."

"Who?"

"Open the door, Mrs. Fletcher!" shouted Sam, losing his patience.

The door opened a crack , and Mrs Fletcher eyed them suspiciously. The wretched little dog growled and tried to squeeze through the door to snap at them.

"Good evening to you, Mrs. Fletcher," said Thomas, forcing a smile.

She glared at him, and thrust a crumpled piece of paper at him abruptly. "A soldier came with a letter for you." She bent to pick up the wildly barking little dog. "Come, Marlborough." She turned her back on them and went back to her bedchamber. The boys could hear the new locks click into place. Even through the thick oak door, the shrill yapping continued.

Sam snorted, "Probably thinks we'll try to force our wicked wills on her in the night, the old harridan!" He deliberately made as much noise as possible. He raised his voice. "And if that goddamned little dog of hers bites me, it'll be the last thing it ever does!"

"Sam, pipe down! She'll hear you!" They went to the little spare room they shared. Sam lit the candle, and they immediately saw that there was no water there, and the chamberpot had not been emptied. Thomas lowered his voice. "You're just making it worse. She's just an old lady, after all. I'll empty the pot in the privy and you get us some water." He set down his letter and handed Sam the pitcher. The other boy snarled, still in a temper, but dutifully headed out the back to the well.

Thomas followed with the stinking pot, and set about emptying it and rinsing it with a few buckets of well water. He remembered his letter and decided to read it before he went to bed. From Father, he supposed.

When he finally pulled the letter from his pocket, he saw that the seal was broken. _That old witch, _he thought, furious. _She's read my letter!_ He was going to say something to her tomorrow, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. He sat on the side of the bed nearest the candle and smoothed the torn and crumpled paper. Sam was washing himself in the dim light. Cold water was better than nothing.

Fresh Water, South Carolina

May 15th, 1781

My dear son,

We are all well here. Your sisters and brothers send their love. I pray that you are safe and unhurt.

I am sorry to tell you that Gabriel has gone. I must admit that I did not foresee this development. Two nights ago he spoke to me with more than usual affection as we all retired for the night. I should have seen Anne's behaviour to him for what it was---a goodbye. In the morning, he did not come down to breakfast, and when I asked Anne if he were ill, she looked me in the eye and said that Gabriel had gone to do his duty to his country. Gabriel has broken his parole, and I am grieved by it, but I had sensed his unhappiness and dissatisfaction for some time. Anne declared that there was no dishonour in breaking one's word to a tyrant. I could not refrain from telling her that breaking one's word is always dishonourable, and that if Gabriel had no intention of honouring his parole, he should not have given it in the first place. We had words. She felt that it was a good trick to play on the English, and I retorted that if everyone did as she suggested, both sides would be burdened with huge prison camps, for neither would ever be able to believe a thing the other claimed ever again. Gabriel has definitely gone north to rejoin the Continentals, and Anne has gone home to her father. It breaks my heart, for she is carrying Gabriel's child. Perhaps, however, it is better so, for the children were terribly upset by our quarrel and by some of the things that were said. Abigail alone seems to view Anne's departure with unmixed satisfaction. She found her a most exacting mistress, and the two of them did not see eye to eye in the care of the youngsters.

Nathan came to me later. Gabriel had tried to persuade him to come along with him, and Nathan had even packed a bag, but in the end could not bear to leave us. I thank God for it. He is only a child, and should not be made to choose between his brothers.

Your Aunt Charlotte has reopened her house in Charlestown, and has invited the girls to stay with her for a few months. It is a fine opportunity to further their education; for Charlotte has a large circle of friends and the girls will be given music lessons, which Margaret has always longed for. I have promised her that if she applies herself and attains some level of proficiency, I will buy a small instrument for our home. I think it will also be a good thing for Susan, silent as she is, to have a way to express herself without having to speak. She has shown that she can talk, but she chooses to do so only rarely.

Through my contacts with the opposition, I have learned that an armistice may be offered within a few weeks. The Continental Congress, as you know, has in the past rejected any tenders of peace from the Crown, but with Cornwallis in Virginia, there is great pressure from all sides to cease hostilities before Virginia, the home of some of the most prominent Patriots, can be laid waste. My source informs me that this is partly due to the insularity of New England, whose representatives have banded together and are seeking a separate peace.

The Whigs in Parliament have always hated the war, as the issues sparking the rebellion are the same which drive their reform movement. Even the King's Friends have expressed their dislike of making war against fellow Englishmen, for so they regard us. With the size of the colonies, the large population, and the distance involved, the idea of treating us as the Highlanders were after the '45 rebellion is considered neither desirable nor feasible. Instead, an armistice may be declared, with each side temporarily keeping the territory it holds, until the situation can be resolved diplomatically. The Crown hopes to persuade its erring children to return voluntarily to its dominion. The French obviously have the most to gain by prolonging the war, and are doing everything in their power to prevent such a truce.

I may be called to represent South Carolina's interests in a possible conference. If so, I shall be taking ship from Charlestown, where I shall leave the boys with your aunt. My voice shall be raised in support of peace, not only for you and Gabriel, but for all the other sons, and brothers, and fathers, and husbands whose lives are at hazard.

Your loving

Father

The letter was three weeks old. Thomas wondered what had happened since the letter was written. Where was Father? If there was to be a peace conference, where might it be held? Father might be in Charlestown, or Baltimore, or Philadelphia, or New York City or even London!

"Thomas, are you going to sit there all night?"

"Sorry, Sam." He stripped off his uniform, washing himself while his head spun with all that the letter had contained. _Father's never sailed on a ship. I wonder if he'll like it?_ Easing back onto the squeaking bed, he blew out the candle, and lay there for some time, imagining faraway cities, and Father in them.  
-----

"Armistice, my lord? What does that mean for our purposes, exactly?" Tavington stood before the Lord General's polished desk, not entirely surprised at the news. His intended raid into the heart of Virginia had been summarily deferred, a gesture of good faith toward the rebels, who were hotly debating making at least a temporary peace with the Crown. The Virginia Patriots had been stoic in the face of their fellow rebels' losses: they were markedly less so when their own estates were threatened.

Cornwallis looked happier than he had in some time. General O'Hara was present, looking even happier. The Lord General had been summoned to participate in the New York conference, and would be leaving O'Hara in temporary command. Cornwallis had from the first spoken out for reason, moderation, and magnanimity in the Crown's dealing with its recalcitrant subjects. When rebuking Tavington's overzealousness on occasion, he had reminded him that "These Colonials are our brethren. When this war is over, we shall reestablish commerce with them." Tavington personally thought that the Lord General's assessment of his 'brethren' was decidedly paternalistic, but it was well-intentioned, nonetheless.

"Well, Colonel, first of all, it means that any raiding is suspending while the negotiations are in session. Any actions on our part must be solely defensive. If the peace conference founders, it must not be seen as our doing. You are to patrol the territory we currently hold. You are to keep the peace here, and repress any rebel activity. You are not to cross the Meherrin River, even in hot pursuit of rebel forces. With the large number of recruits lately, I am agreeing to your request to form a new troop of dragoons. You may make brevet promotions for a captain and two lieutenants, which will be subject to my approval when I return." Cornwallis leaned back in his chair, and gave O'Hara a nod.

The general spoke up. "I am moving our headquarters to Williamsburg, as this area is obviously insalubrious. I want you to precede us there. Even though we will not be moving into any new territory, we can consolidate our control over what we hold, and above all, continue to seek out the best site for a naval base on the Chesapeake. A detachment of Royal Engineers and the American Volunteers will be joining you within the week."

Tavington's face broke into a pleased smile. Cornwallis noted it, and smiled slightly in response. "I am certain you and Colonel Ferguson will have much to say to one another. In this interval, Colonel, we must be circumspect."

"_'They also serve, who only stand and wait,_' my lord?" Tavington quoted innocently.

O'Hara allowed himself a snort of laughter. The Lord General nodded, and dismissed Tavington benevolently. "Exactly so, Colonel. Perhaps this war may be over by high summer. I pray so. Good day to you, sir."

Still smiling, Tavington bowed and headed toward his own quarters. He had not seen Pattie in over a month, nor had the opportunity to congratulate him in person on his promotion to Colonel.

Wilkins and his troop were coming in, hot and dusty from patrol. Since Bordon's death back in January, Tavington had found himself having to make a number of reassignments within the dragoons. Hovenden had finally received his deserved promotion to major, and was as happy as a man with two very troublesome brothers could be. He had suggested to Tavington that his brother Lieutenant Moore Hovenden replace him as troop captain; but Tavington would not hear of it, when there were many better men to choose from. Alan Cameron was more senior, and a better fighter, for that matter. He was not about, however, to burden Cameron with Moore Hovenden's resentment, and in the end, had found a major reorganisation to be necessary. Now there would be this new troop to arrange. To whom would he give a captaincy?

He smiled. Duncan Monroe was conveniently next in line for promotion, and Tavington had never forgotten the high regard in which Bordon had held him. Yes, Monroe was the man, and he would need two lieutenants…….

"Is the Colonel in?" Wilkins asked of the orderly just outside the door.

"Come in, Captain Wilkins," Tavington called.

Wilkins entered, ducking under the doorway's low lintel. "Reporting in, sir. We're just back from Norfolk."

"Sit down, Wilkins. Roarke, bring us some tea." Tavington waited while Wilkins carefully folded his tall body into the absurdly small chair. "Any trouble?"

"Nothing to speak of. Some children threw rocks at us on the way back, and then tried to run off. Sgt. Davies caught one of them and whacked his behind with the flat of his sabre. Then his mother comes running out of her house and screams fit to wake the dead."

Tavington laughed. "I see. The dread Green Dragoons once again leave a trail of atrocities in their wake."

Wilkins shrugged amiably. "Have you heard anything new from Lizzie since she wrote you about Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva's funeral?"

Tavington's smile soured slightly. _How can I get this blockhead to stop calling her that, without thumping him?_ While Elizabeth allowed her sisters to call her Lilabet, a nursery name first bestowed by her brother Richard; he knew she detested being called Lizzie, Eliza, Betsy, Bess, or any of the thousand other pet names for Elizabeth. Tactful hints had so far proved useless.

"The Montgomerys are at Arcadia, the house in Camden is let, with the rents to be paid quarterly to the lawyer, who will pay Charlotte an allowance and invest the rest on the children's behalf. Your inheritance has been paid to your account at your bank in Charlestown, and you should be receiving a letter to that effect any day now."

"That's good news. Three thousand pounds will do a lot to rebuild Greenwood someday. God bless Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva. I sort of reckoned she'd leave all her money to the church or to the Royal Society, or to some crazy philosopher. I guess blood was thicker than water in the end." The tea was brought, and Wilkins drank gratefully. "Is she feeling all right—Lizzie, I mean?"

"Well enough. She never complains, at any rate. She persuaded the governess to come out to Arcadia, so she isn't burdened with teaching the children, and they have their own nurserymaid, after all. Before the family left, George tried to enlist in the Camden garrison, but he was recognised and sent home. Now that he's at Arcadia, he's settled down a little, with all the activity on the plantation to interest him."

Tavington himself had been pleased to hear about the bequests. While Miss Everleigh's house in Camden had been left to the Montgomery's, and each of the children had been left a thousand pounds apiece, the bulk of her money had been divided among Wilkins and the three Wilde sisters. With her share of the money left by her mother, Elizabeth was the mistress –what was the phrase he had heard in England?—of a not great, but _useful_ fortune. In America, her well-over-five thousand pounds was a lot of money. Before the war, the plantation had brought in an income averaging two thousand pounds a year. His impoverished state was a thing of the past. Now if the war would only end, he could actually enjoy his prosperity.  
-----

O'Hara was proved right: Williamsburg proved a pleasanter and healthier billet than Petersburg had been. The house Tavington was quartered in was more than comfortable, and large enough to provide lodgings for Pattie and his household when he arrived. It was here that he had finished his plans for the new troop and its complement.

Monroe was called in first, and the Virginian's grateful joy at his promotion gave Tavington real satisfaction. After breaking with his family, and enduring a host of dangers simply to find his way to the Legion, he was now reaping some recognition and rewards. Tavington discussed with him his own ideas for Monroe's two lieutenants, and the new captain was in agreement. Two new and extremely young lieutenants in the same troop would not be the best disposition of manpower; so both Martin and the Willett boy would be promoted, but assigned to different troops and each paired with a more experienced officer.

"I'd prefer Thomas Martin as a subordinate, if it's all the same to you, sir. I've been with the boy for quite a while and we trust each other. I think Donald McLeod would be a good third, and then Sam Willett can take his place in Cameron's troop."

"Just as you please. The boy is young, but he's been with us over a year and has done well. The Willett boy is little flighty, but Cameron will settle him down. All the promotions will be reviewed by the Lord General, but I cannot imagine there could be any difficulty. Congratulations, then, Captain Monroe."

"Thank you, sir," the Virginian smiled.  
-----

"I can't believe it!" Thomas and Sam had maintained their martial demeanour throughout their interview with the Colonel, trying not to grin like fools; but no sooner had they been dismissed, than Sam whooped and grabbed Thomas in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground.

"Put me down, you idiot! Do you want the men to see us?"

Sam dropped him and stood there, still grinning. "We're lieutenants!"

Thomas grinned back involuntarily. "Yes, we're lieutenants. More pay, more responsibility, more respect."

"I can't believe it," Sam repeated. "We've got to celebrate."

"We've got to check the stables, and post the guards, and then, yes, maybe we should celebrate."

"We need to find some girls."

Thomas sighed. "Girls would be nice, if they were the right sort."

"Thomas, my lad, I was thinking more about the _wrong_ sort." He waggled his eyebrows outrageously. "You need to stop moping about Dinah Poole. It's not healthy in a young man."

Faint and shrill on the breeze came the piping of bandsmen's fifes. The unmistakable sounds of approaching troops marching in to town distracted Thomas from Sam's nonsense. "That must be the American Volunteers arriving. Maybe Colonel Ferguson will have his two fancy women with him. They sure are pretty."

"I saw them, back there in Carolina. The redhead's the one for me. You," Sam offered generously, "can have the brown-haired one with the dimples."

"Thank you so much." Thomas rolled his eyes. "Still, a pretty woman is always worth a look."

Miss Sally and Miss Polly were indeed with the American Volunteers, riding along with the baggage train. The American Volunteers had plenty of other woman as well, for Patrick Ferguson had often remarked to his friend Tavington that while a cavalryman might see a pretty girl first, a infantryman moved slowly enough to properly make her acquaintance. The wagons trundled by, and Thomas and Sam leaned against the wall of the local millinery shop, enjoying the parade, and the waves of the laundry women.

Thomas' eye was caught by a girl who seemed familiar, when the girl looked at him and called out, "Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin!"

Sam looked too, and laughed to Thomas, "This really is your lucky day, Tom!" Sure enough, Dinah Poole, all rosy-face, bright eyes, and delicious curves, was waving wildly at him.

Surprised and delighted, Thomas ran over to the wagon to help Dinah out of it. "What are you doing here!"

Her face fell and she looked at him anxiously, "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Yes---yes, of course. I'm just surprised. I thought you were back in Camden."

Dinah called up to another woman in the wagon. "Throw me my bag, Bessy." The ragged leather satchel was tossed into her arms, and she neatly caught it and smiled eagerly at Thomas. "I missed you too much, so I joined up with the American Volunteers when I heard they were going north. Where are you staying?"

"At the King's Arms." They stood still a moment looking at each other, and Thomas was nearly swept away by a rising tide of excitement. Dinah bit her luscious lower lip thoughtfully and gave him the glance he knew so well.

He took Dinah's bag from her and caught her hand in his. "Sam, I just thought about something I left back at the inn. I'll see you later." Nearly running, he and Dinah headed down the street to the privacy of his room.

Sam grinned, and bowed ironically. "Take your time!" he called after them.  
-----

Notes: The Willett family situation is basically factual. They were indeed testified against and never returned to Pennsylvania. Walter's wife refused to join him after the war, and he was granted a divorce and later remarried.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: Zubeneschamali, LCWA, pigeonsfromhell, Carmen Sandiego, Carolina Girl, andrea mae, SlytherinDragoon, wolfgal, and ladymarytavington. I spend hours researching, writing, and editing my stories. Your support makes it all worthwhile.

Next chapter: **Destiny's Playthings**—our heroes suffer the whims of outrageous fortune.


	9. Destiny's Playthings: Tavington

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Disclaimer: Don't own it. Blame someone else.

Our heroes suffer the whims of outrageous fortune. Part the first.  
  
Chapter 9: Destiny's Playthings: Tavington

Morning light slanted through the shutters. Tavington lay alone in bed, missing Elizabeth, wondering if getting up was worthwhile, and almost regretting how late he had stayed up the night before, talking with Pattie Ferguson.

He had forgotten had excruciatingly dull the army could be in peacetime. With the truce, he had only routine patrolling and routine inspections to occupy him. Boredom was the enemy of military preparedness, but O'Hara was a good enough commander to consider his forces' morale. Tavington anticipated a round of balls and parties for the officers, some dances for the men, and horseracing and cricket for all. He must order his own captains to start organising some activities within the Legion, if only to keep the men reasonably sober.

He could hardly ask Elizabeth to join him here, in her current condition. Still, he indulged in the fantasy: calculating that a two-day journey to Charlestown and then a slow, easy voyage north could bring her to him in less than ten days. She might find it restful, away from all cares and duties.

He sighed. No. Elizabeth would not leave Arcadia, not with the growing season demanding her attention, not with the little Montgomerys needing a steadier hand than that of their weak, silly mother. Elizabeth was Arcadia's linchpin, and it could not function without her. For now, their marriage would be by correspondence only. He must write to her today.

Discipline finally asserted itself, and he decided to face the morning and perhaps go for a walk. Williamsburg was a fine old town, and he should acquaint himself with it.

At length he was satisfied with his appearance, and left his quarters, nearly running into Polly Featherstone, emerging from the suite of rooms that Pattie and his mistresses occupied. She was attired in a fashionable walking habit; the full petticoat partnered with a short curacao jacket of a somewhat military cut. A very pretty plumed hat gave a final flourish. She looked perfectly the lady, and Tavington paused to admire.

"Miss Featherstone," he greeted her. "You are all going out?"

"Sshh," she whispered, laying her hand gently on his arm. "They're sleeping. I was just going down for some breakfast, and then for a walk."

Breakfast was laid out in a sunny, east-facing parlour. There were a few other officers quartered in the house, but they had either already left to attend to their duties, or were sleeping late. Tavington found himself breakfasting most privately with pretty Polly Featherstone, and enjoying it greatly.

"Where are you planning to walk, Miss Featherstone?" he asked her, as he finished his eggs. "It is a little early for the shops."

"Just a walk," she murmured, stirring her tea idly.

"I have nothing pressing planned for this morning," Tavington declared. "I shall escort you."

She finished nibbling her toast, and stood up, smoothing her skirts. "Please don't trouble yourself."

Tavington rose, concerned. "I _will_ escort you. The town is full of drunken soldiers. You could be pulled into an alley and ravished before anyone heard you cry for help."

She did not look at him. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Stop." He grasped her firmly by the elbow. "You know that it is my duty to protect you." She sighed and took his proffered arm meekly.

It was a remarkably fine day, and they strolled west on Duke of Gloucester Street, peering into shop windows. Polly was quiet, and Tavington wondered what was troubling her. When they passed the church and reached Nassau Street, she turned to her right, and walked a little until they crossed Prince George Street. It was lined with pleasant homes, and was not far from the Palace Green and the Governor's residence. Polly paused in front of a substantial red-brick house, and eyed it wistfully.

"A pretty place," commented Tavington, admiring the neat garden abloom with larkspur and pinks.

"Yes," Polly said, her voice oddly muffled. Tavington bent to look at her face, hidden by the wide brim of the elegant hat, and saw tears running down her face.

"My dear, what is wrong?" asked Tavington, bewildered, and he groped for a pocket-handkerchief. "Do you know this house?"

Muffled sobs signaled her distress. Tavington put a comforting arm around her, wondering what he had better do. Polly sniffled into his handkerchief and controlled herself enough to choke out, "I used to live here."

"Really?" Tavington could think of nothing more intelligent to say, so great was his surprise. "You are from Williamsburg?" _Right,_ he remembered, _she and her sister are known in the army as Virginia Pol and Virginia Sal. You're a little slow this morning, Will._

She wiped her nose, and made an effort to restrain further tears. "Sally and I weren't trollops from birth, you see, " she said, attempting to make a joke of it. "Our father was a cotton merchant here in town, and that house is where we grew up."

Tavington knew that he was about to hear a most unhappy story, and resigned himself to it. "What happened to your father? I take it he is no longer living?"

She nodded, wiping her nose again. "It was the war, of course. Everything, everything is always because of the war." She stood up straighter and gave her head a little shake. The plume of her hat lightly tickled Tavington's nose. "He was for the King, and let everyone know it. One night his warehouse burned down, and a few weeks later, a mob gathered around him as he was walking home. They beat him." She paused, looking blindly at the ground. "They beat him, and left him for dead. Some decent people got him home, and helped us take care of him. A few days later, he died." She gave a small, mirthless laugh. "Apoplexy, the doctor called it. He wanted it to sound like natural causes so none of the brave Patriots would be prosecuted for murder."

"Had you no other relatives?" Tavington was already thinking ahead. _Has she spoken to Pattie about this? The Featherstone girls might be due some restitution, if Polly's claim could be proved._

"Yes, unfortunately," she said so bitterly that he was again startled. "My uncle came from Richmond for us. He sold our house and the rest of father's property. Putting it in trust, he called it. Stealing it was more like the truth. He and his horrible wife made our lives a misery for the next two years. Finally, they decided to be rid of us, I suppose. Uncle took us with him on a business trip to Norfolk early in '78. One morning, he was gone." She looked up at Tavington, almost furiously. "Just gone. He left us at the inn. He didn't even pay the bill. He deserted us, and the landlord said he would have us in prison for debt. I was eighteen and Sally sixteen. Do you know what it is like to have nothing: no friends, no money, no one to help you?"

Tavington felt faintly ill. He had had a detestable uncle of his own, far back in his past, but even Uncle Fitzroy-Hughes was not as cruel as this. Tavington had at least been given an education of a sort, and a commission that would put him in the way of making his living. He was diverted from the idea of reparations for Polly and Sally into thoughts of revenge on their behalf. It was fortunate that Richmond marked the northern boundary of the corner of Virginia controlled by the British. _There is still a garrison in Richmond, left by Phillips and Arnold after their raid earlier this year. How soon could we get a message there? If the uncle is still living he could be sued for their inheritance. It would take time, and be unpleasant, but he might yield to persuasion of one sort or another. _He turned his attention back to Polly. "I've never had anything so dreadful happen to me, my dear. Tell me what happened then."

Her lip curled. "Exactly what you would expect. The landlord agreed not to prosecute if Sally and I would work off the debt. That meant working off the debt in the kitchen, but also in his bed, in his friends' beds, and with anyone who would pay him a shilling for us. We apprenticed our trade there in Norfolk, I can tell you. By the time he was through with us, there wasn't anything we didn't know or hadn't done. We left that hateful place, and headed south to the British. Eventually we were lucky enough to meet our Colonel Pattie in Charlestown." She managed a faint smile. "The rest you know. Men sneer at fallen women, but not one woman has fallen without a man or two to give her a good, hard push."

Tavington took his handkerchief and carefully wiped her face. Whatever he had been about to say was forgotten, for they heard "Polly! Polly Featherstone!" called out loudly, and turned to see an elderly woman in a huge cap and apron making a hasty if somewhat ponderous approach, running out of the house next door to the one that had been Polly's. Polly stiffened, and gave Tavington a look of frightened appeal. He took her hand again, fit it firmly into the crook of his arm, and gave it a comforting pat.

Polly caught her breath, and hesitantly greeted the old lady. "Mrs. Cartwright?"

Mrs. Cartwright, out of breath, gave her a gap-toothed but kindly smile. "It _is_ you, little Polly Featherstone, as I live and breathe! How lovely you look, quite the fine lady. My dear, I'm so happy to see you again! Is this your husband? How handsome! (a bashful giggle) Is little Sally with you? I have missed my good neighbors." She leaned forward confidentially, "The Nances, you know, all right in their way, but your dear father was always so good about helping me with contracts and business!"

"I am very happy to see you, too, Mrs. Cartwright." Polly turned to Tavington. "Colonel, Mrs. Cartwright was the kindest of neighbors, and so good during all our troubles. Mrs. Cartwright, this is my friend, Colonel Tavington, who thought it best to escort me today. I wanted so much to see my old home."

The old lady was ecstatic. "Of course you would, my dear. You'll come in and have something, I hope?"

"Sally will be wondering where I am—"

"Oh, just for a minute, surely. I so long to talk to you." She led them into her cheerful home, prattling on. "I was sorry to hear of your troubles with your uncle. Such a severe man. Sit, sit, please. Oh, sir, I think you would like that seat." She blushed a little, and said to Tavington, "Mustn't speak ill of the dead, I know, but I told him how happy I would be to keep dear Polly and little Sally with me—a lonely old widow, you know—but he would not hear of it, and swept them off to Richmond with him."

Polly had been about to seat herself, but was suddenly frozen. "My uncle is dead?" Mrs. Cartwright had plumped herself in a favourite chair, placed, Tavington noted wryly, to command an admirable view of the street and any possible passersby.

The kind old lady stopped her chatter, and put her hands to her mouth. "Oh, dear! You did not know. No, and how could you, when the lawyer said that Mr. Featherstone himself did not know where you were? Oh, yes, my dear. Quite dead, back last year, and his wife before him in '78—or was it '79? I cannot quite recollect. Quite dead, though. The lawyer came to Williamsburg, for he was charged with finding you. Your uncle was ill some time, and a long illness always gives one time to reflect on one's shortcomings. He felt he had not done quite right by you and dear little Sally, and he said so plainly in his will."

Polly finally sat, stunned. "He remembered us in his will?"

"Oh, yes, my dear, and why not? They had neither chick nor child to leave their property to, but you and little Sally."

Tavington was silent, fighting laughter. The good old lady's constant references to "little Sally," were amusingly incongruent with "little Sally's" lush womanliness, or her behaviour last night, sitting part of the time on and about Pattie's lap.

Mrs. Cartwright called, "Liddie! Bring us some tea, and some of that cake from the sideboard!" She got up and fluttered about the parlour. "And he left a card. It is right here—I put it aside most carefully—if I can recall just where….." She stood still a moment, her head swiveling about, Tavington thought, _like a puzzled hen_.

"Numbers!" she declared triumphantly. Polly and Tavington exchanged a look, and stared at her. Mrs. Cartwright beamed, and snatched up her Bible from the parlour table.

"Numbers 27:8! 'And thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel, saying, "If a man die, and have no son, then ye shall cause his inheritance to pass unto his daughter."'" She withdrew a card from the marked place, and handed it happily to Polly. "I thought it was appropriate, except that you are nieces, and not daughters, but it's nearly the same."

"Jonathan Boggs, Attorney-at-Law, Richmond," Polly read. She sat back, bewildered. "I don't know what to say."

Tavington interposed smoothly. "When you return to your lodgings, Miss Featherstone, you must write to this Mr. Boggs, tell him where you are, and ask him to call and settle the business of your inheritance."

"I don't know what—I'm not sure I know how—" Polly was confused and fearful, and Tavington reassured her.

"Your friends will help you. Such things are easily managed. Think how delighted your sister will be!"

Polly contrived a smile. "Yes, yes, of course." She leaned over to take Mrs. Cartwright's hand. "My dear Mrs. Cartwright, I am so obliged to you. You are a true friend."

The good old lady had only time for a smile before the servant arrived with "Tea! Now then, Miss Polly—Colonel, do try some of this cake—it is a new receipt—I think it will do you good, my dear."

-----

And then she sobbed all the way back to their lodgings.

Tavington had been pleased for her. With any luck, the Featherstone girls would receive a decent sum. Even if it were not enough to keep them in comfort, perhaps it would allow them to choose their future protectors with some care, if Pattie should return home to Scotland or otherwise become unable to continue their liaison. Polly's sobs continued, however, far longer than Tavington would have supposed possible for the tears of joy sometimes even rational women like Elizabeth shed.

Polly finally stopped behind the corner of a shop, unwilling to step back out into busy Duke of Gloucester Street until she was calmer.

"I can't let anyone see me like this. I don't want anyone else here to recognise me." She lamented, "Oh, why didn't I think to wear a veil?"

Tavington said truthfully, "I am very happy for you, Miss Featherstone, and I know Pattie will be as well. I can't imagine that your sister will be anything other than delighted to hear of your good fortune."

Polly looked up at him pitifully, her eyes red. "I feel so dreadful about Mrs. Cartwright. That sweet, innocent old busybody. She'll blab to the whole town that she saw 'dear Polly,' and within a day she'll be told what we are." Her voice broke, and she sobbed harder than ever. "She's going to be so ashamed of us! She'll hate me, a known harlot, for sullying her home!"

Tavington could think of nothing better to do to stem the flood of tears and regrets than give the girl a shoulder to cry upon, and stroke her back gently. She rested her head against his chest, and her plume once again tickled his nose unmercifully. He tried to blow it away, but the more he tried to escape, the more the feather seemed determined to go up his nose. Polly pressed closer, and he was further distracted by the pleasant snugness of a pretty and nicely rounded young woman in his arms. He could smell her lavender water, and feel the boned corset tightly cinching the slender waist. It had been some months since he had held such an agreeable armful.

Knowing it was unwise to think along those lines a moment more, he set her firmly at arms' length, taking the soft arms in a bracing grip. "Now, my dear, you must command yourself. We only have a little farther to go, and then you can cry all you like back in the privacy of your rooms." He caught her eye, and looked at her questioningly. She nodded, gave a great sniff, and once again took his arm. They walked quickly back to the lodgings, and were upstairs in a few minutes.

She stopped before her own door, and turned to Tavington, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Thank you, Colonel, for lending me your strength today." She murmured, "I always knew you were a good man." Before Tavington could dismiss the compliment, she rose up on tiptoe and kissed him sweetly and warmly.

Surprised beyond resistance, Tavington reflexively pulled Polly against him, his good sense overthrown by the pleasure of the moment. It had been so long. Polly's kisses were slow and expert, and he returned them hungrily, there in the hall, as the light breeze through the window stirred the curtains. She felt his response hard against her, and gave an amorous little moan.

The sound was enough to bring Tavington back to disagreeable reality. He was a man married to the woman he loved, kissing his best friend's mistress outside said friend's door. _Not only a betrayal of friendship and love, but damned stupid, too._

He pushed her away gently. She gave him a naughty smile, and said, "That's what I meant. You _are_ a good man. And such a lovely one, too."

"Pattie is my particular friend."

She nodded wisely. "I love my Colonel Pattie dearly, never think otherwise. Still and all, I've always known that if he were upset in a boat with Sally and me, which one of us he would rescue first." She opened the door and called out.

"Sally? Colonel?" Polly withdrew the elaborate pin from her hat, removed the plumed creation, and set it on a table. Tavington guiltily considered fleeing to his room at once.

Before he could make his escape, Pattie emerged from the bedchamber, still in his shirtsleeves. "Polly, lass, where have you been? You were gone when we woke again." He saw Tavington in the hall behind her, "Good day to you, Will! What have you been up to? Stealing my woman?"

Tavington huffed a nervous laugh, and Polly dashed over to Pattie, flinging her arms around his neck. "I went for a walk, and Colonel Tavington said he must escort me. Sally! Come out here. This concerns you too."

Pattie gave her a quick kiss, and frowned with concern as he noticed Polly's still red and swollen eyes. Sally called from the bedchamber, "I'm not dressed yet, Polly! Go on and tell me."

Breathlessly, Polly told them about her walk, Mrs. Cartwright, and their possible inheritance; and then produced the card for Pattie's examination. He looked it over with interest, and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

"I'm happier than I can say, to think that you and Sally may have a wee bit between you. Aye, sit down and we'll settle the business right now. We'll send the letter with a courier to the Richmond garrison." Sally ambled into the sitting room, her corset not yet laced, and her generous breasts peeking saucily over the edge of her lace-trimmed chemise. She gave Tavington a cheeky smile, and eagerly scanned the lawyer's card herself.

Tavington offered, "I'll be leading a patrol north tomorrow. There's no reason that I can't take the letter myself. " He decided to raise the question of reparations with Pattie as well. "Miss Featherstone says that her father owned property here in the town that was destroyed by rebels. Doesn't O'Hara have that fellow Jenkins on his staff who is dealing with such claims?"

"Aye, Jenkins is the man. The silly lasses didn't tell me about this before." He glanced at Polly, and she blushed and looked away.

Tavington murmured low in his friend's ear. "They are ashamed to face their old neighbors, and are worried about unkind gossip. Polly was quite distraught after meeting Mrs. Cartwright."

Pattie nodded thoughtfully. He guided Polly to the table, and helped her gather the materials she needed for the letter. Sally, less ambivalent about the situation, was plying her sister with questions as to the possible amount of their inheritance.

Tavington decided it was time to go, and said his farewells. He had not planned to lead the patrol originally. Now he decided it would be best to get as far from pretty Polly and her allurements as possible. He could leave Hovenden with the bulk of the Dragoons, and take Kinlock, Cameron, and Monroe with their troops for an excursion to season the new promotions a little. Yes, he decided, liking the plan the more he thought of it, he would get away for a week, deliver Polly's letter, and by the time he was back, she would have forgotten their kiss in the hall.

He returned to his own room, shut the door, and sat at the escritoire for awhile, still somewhat restless and aroused. He finally retrieved the ink and a quill, carefully smoothed out some good quality paper, and sublimated his needs by writing to those dearest to him.

__

June 7, 1781

Williamsburg, Virginia

My dearest Elizabeth,

I am well and safe. I hope your health continues sound and that the increasing heat does not affect your condition adversely. If the little Montgomerys prove too great a charge, write to me. I shall take leave, return to Arcadia, and flog them all savagely (including Charlotte) with my sword belt until their conduct improves. You are laughing as you read this, imagining that I am not serious. I am. It is a wretched thing to leave you so burdened while I prosecute the war. I feel that I have not been the husband you deserve, and it pains me sorely. Whipping irritating relations may seem a strange proof of love to you, but I offer it as one, nonetheless.

I received your last, about the ball Amelia attended in Charlestown. She is quite the butterfly, your sister, and I hope the DeLanceys keep a weather eye on her. I passed on to Lieutenant Martin (yes, I promoted the boy recently) the news that Amelia has made the acquaintance of his sisters in Charlestown, as they all have the same music master. It was news to him, so apparently the sisters have not been corresponding with him frequently; but then I believe they are quite young, the eldest not fourteen, he said. He spoke glowingly of his aunt Charlotte Selton, whom he considers the epitome of elegance. Do you know her?

His father, Captain Martin, has gone with the other South Carolina commissioners to the New York peace conference. With a son on either side of this conflict, his is a voice that will be heeded. Young Martin confessed to me that his rebel brother has broken his parole and headed north to rejoin the rebels, much to their father's chagrin. I reassured the boy that his brother's treachery in no way reflects poorly upon himself. About the father I am not so sure. Certainly there must have been some great neglect there for the young man to be so unprincipled. Perhaps I am wrong to judge so, but I cannot help thinking that no child of ours will ever be so careless of honour. Mind you, our child will have in you the best of mothers. Of that I am in no doubt.

The peace is not entirely peace, but not war either, so we patrol our territory and glare impotently at the enemy at the borders. I am going up to Richmond tomorrow for a wide patrol that will sweep the whole northwest corner of our holding in Virginia. Some of the rebels have fled, and their properties have been confiscated and the profits used to relieve Loyalists who were previously dispossessed. The process is slow and deliberate, however, and many suffer before they can obtain their just restitution. Enough of the war. Pray God it will all soon be over, and well over!

So Julia is leading poor Miss Temple a merry dance. Do compensate the unhappy woman fairly for her trouble. It cannot be easy to teach a girl as lively as Julia, a boy as stubborn as George, and mob of children as silly as the rest of the Montgomerys. If Miss Temple can at least train Jane, Mary, and Sophie not to giggle, it would be a noble deed. If she cannot, there is always the sword belt upon my return. Then there is your cousin Wilkins Yes, he is perfectly fit and well: as strong as a plowhorse and nearly as intelligent. Do you think a match could be contrived between him and Charlotte? She's a pretty enough woman, though an utter simpleton. She would look up to him adoringly, and he might be pleased to have someone to watch over. The children all seem to like him, too, since he indulges their every whim. If he would take them all away with him to the new house he plans to build, however, he could indulge them to the point of lunacy with my fervent blessing, so long as I did not have to see it.

My dearest love, I am always pleased to hear of the plantation's prosperity and the improvements you have made to the house. Your thought for the curing sheds is very clever indeed. However, remember that while I respect the planter and the woman of business, I love the wife most dearly. Taking care of the estate is all very well, but it is you who are precious and irreplaceable. Care for yourself first of all.

I thought about you as I awoke today. I felt the loss of you keenly, and in a most particular way. Do you remember our delightful mornings together? I toyed with the idea of asking you to join me here in Williamsburg. A short carriage ride of two days, a sea voyage somewhat longer, and you could lie all day at your ease in the comfortable bed at my lodgings. Williamsburg is a pleasant town, but seeing it without you is a lonely business. I have been spoiled by the delights of marriage; and to be once again degraded to the status of bachelor, however temporarily, is not very agreeable. Women pass me by in the street, but they all have your sweet face.

Your most devoted,

William

June 7th, 1781  
Williamsburg, Virginia

My dear Julia,

I do hope that Frank is no longer orange. You must be more careful when playing at Indians. If he were to be rendered permanently orange, he might remain a charge on your sister's hands for the rest of his natural life. And no, however great an improvement it might be, you cannot raise Caroline as a Wilde. A Montgomery she is, and a Montgomery she must remain. A hard fate, but there it is.

I sympathise with your desire to keep Jane, Mary, and Sophie out of your room. Perhaps it would be best to pack away the silver toilette set and the scent bottles for the time being. The girls will get into them, and you do not want your nice things to be spoiled.

Speaking of nice things being spoiled, Elizabeth has written to me about your treatment of Miss Temple. It will not do, my dear. Miss Temple has a hard time enough as it is, without you making it worse. Would you think it amusing if it were done to you? I think not. While I understand that it was more pleasant when Elizabeth taught you herself, you must do your part to make her life a little easier. She has cares enough. The new music Miss Temple is teaching you sounds most charming, and I look forward to hearing it.

Thank you for the picture. The horse is very good. I am glad that you and George are playing nicely now. Tell George that if he continues to behave, and thoroughly learns his first and second declensions, I will give him fencing lessons myself the next time I am there. Yes, you may have lessons too. If you behave.

Your loving brother,

William Tavington

He sprinkled the letters with sand and set them carefully to dry. He would post them himself, and then attend this afternoon to the preparations for the patrol. He leaned back in the chair, and heard Polly's voice, filtered through the doors, singing to herself.  
  
_"As I was a-walking one morning in May,  
I spied a young couple a-making of hay,  
Oh, one was a fair maid and her beauty shone clear,  
The other was a soldier, a bold grenadier.  
  
'Good morning, good morning, good morning,' said he,  
'Oh, where are you going, my pretty lady?'  
'I'm going a-walking by the clear crystal stream  
To see cool waters glide and hear nightingales sing.'  
  
'Oh, soldier, oh, soldier, will you marry me?'  
'Oh, no, my sweet lady, that never can be,  
For I've got a wife at home in my own country,  
Two wives and the army's too many for me!'" _

-----

****

**Notes:** Receipt is the word generally used in the 18th and early 19th centuries instead of recipe. Recipe began to be used in the mid-18th century and gradually overtook receipt as the common word for a cooking formula.

The song is _The Grenadier and the Lady. _Both "to make hay," and "to hear the nightingale sing,"are 18th century expressions for having sex.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: Zubeneschamali, LCWA, pigeonsfromhell, nomorebraces, ladymarytavington, Carolina Girl, and wolfgal. I really do take your remarks into account and find good new ideas in them! Keep them coming!

Next chapter: **Destiny's Playthings**—**Thomas **The truce continues (more or less), and lives are further complicated.


	10. Destiny's Playthings: Thomas

_Disclaimer: No own Patriot._

Our heroes suffer the whims of outrageous fortune. Part the Second

**Chapter 10: Destiny's Playthings: Thomas **

The City of Richmond did not welcome the British Legion with open arms.

They weren't welcome at all, Thomas acknowledged. _Well, too bad,_ he thought grimly. They were coming through, a show of force to hearten the garrison under Major Urquhart, to keep the northern border of British Virginia quiet, and to deliver some correspondence. Thomas first understood the hostility of the locals when they rode through town, and were met by silent stares. Still, the townspeople seemed to be willing to accept their money. Outright confrontation was rare: on his way to a public house on Broad Street, Sergeant Davies had been spat upon by one furious Colonial dame. He doffed his helmet to the woman, and remarked to his companions, "Looks like we'll be having some rain."

While the senior officers busied themselves with their own affairs, Thomas, as the junior lieutenant of his troop, was left with considerable responsibility. Captain Monroe was giving him every chance to prove his worth. Thomas was frequently called on to arbitrate minor disputes between his troopers and the townspeople. He gave out punishments for lesser infractions, and inspected his men and their mounts daily. He liked having things to do: it was quite different from the boredom of a cornet's life.

Near St. John's Church, he saw a millinery shop with a pretty display of caps and ribbons. He would get a present to take home to Dinah, who was now comfortably established in his quarters in Williamsburg. He had firmly laid down basic rules for their cohabitation: no flirting with other men, and earnest avoidance of anything that might attract the Colonel's unfavourable notice. Happy enough to have a semblance of domestic life, she was only too willing to agree to any and all of his demands.

Decent quarters of his own, and Dinah to share them with: life in the army could not get much better than this, Thomas decided.

"Lieutenant Martin, sir!" He turned at the shout, and saw a dragoon from his own troop, Rory Fraser, striding toward him. He was an enormously tall and remarkably handsome immigrant from the Scottish Highlands. Even the hostile womenfolk in this rebel town eyed his powerful frame with discreet admiration. The man saluted, and relayed his message. "Captain Monroe's looking for ye."

"Did he say why?"

"He didna say, sir. Could be that the Colonel's taking us out on patrol."

"Thank you, Fraser. I'm on my way." Thomas threw a longing look at the milliner's window. There were some cherry-red ribbons that he knew Dinah would adore. He shrugged with resignation. _It will all be here when I get back._

-----

Captain Monroe knew the area fairly well. His family home was further on, beyond the Rappahanock, but his family had had friends near Richmond, and he knew a number of their names and properties. Many of those whose sympathies were with the rebels had already fled, leaving their estates to be confiscated at the King's pleasure. Thomas owed his good new horse to one such forfeiture. The intelligence they received was generally reliable, if somewhat limited, through the liberated slaves flocking to the British.

The captain had confided his concerns about this tactic to Thomas. "We've liberated so many slaves from the rebels that the rest of them will be expecting to be freed as well. It's going to make it damned hard on Loyal planters to hold on to their labour, if the slaves can run away with a story about belonging to some rebel in the neighborhood. They're useful now, but the whole policy has set a bad precedent for the future."

Thomas nodded acknowledgement, if not agreement. Without slaves at Fresh Water, he had no real stake in the slave question himself. He knew that many of their neighbors had thought Father odd for hiring workers. Father had had words with some others, who felt that he was making trouble in their community. Thomas had been sheltered from the worst of the acrimony, but he realised now that Father's stubborn independence, and his insistence that his own sons perform physical work and learn self-reliance, were his answer to the local critics.

And Thomas had since read, too, some of the English writers on the slave question. Dr. Johnson himself, in _Taxation No Tyranny_, had pointed out that "the howls for liberty are loudest from drivers of slaves." Further, one of the biggest grievances of the rebels was the Crown's refusal to allow them to cross the mountains and appropriate land that the King had sworn would belong to the Indians in perpetuity. It seemed that the rebels had great regard for their own rights, and none at all for the rights of the land's first inhabitants.

He cantered down the dusty road along with his troop, full of such thoughts. He wondered if Father had reached New York by now, where the peace conference was being held, and what he would think of it. He had not had a letter from him since May.

The Green Dragoons were patrolling the northern borders of British territory today. They had headed north from Richmond and would move along the banks of the Anna River. Across the river were the rebels, but their numbers and dispositions were unclear.

Captain Monroe was at the front of the column, conferring with Colonel Tavington. When the order to halt came down, they were allowed a brief break, to water their horses and themselves. Thomas was summoned to report to the Colonel, and found him, still in earnest conversation with his captain and studying a map.

"Lieutenant Martin," ordered Tavington, "Take four men. I want you to scout northeast, here." He pointed out a crossroads near the river with a gloved finger. "Hanover."

"There's a good tavern there," remarked Captain Monroe. "A big place. I've stopped there many a time on my way to Richmond."

Tavington shrugged, with a slight smile. "I have no objection to you stopping and speaking to the locals. I'm sending out a number of small patrols to feel the area out for rebel activity." He gave Thomas a moment to fix the map in his mind, and dismissed him.

Thomas felt quite excited at this prospect of independent command, however small. "Sergeant van Wagner, Fraser, Loveland, and Baird! Follow me!"

The dusty road snaking toward Hanover was empty of any travelers save themselves. Thomas ordered the men to keep their eyes open. The British Army might hold Richmond and the towns to the south, but British Virginia was simply too large to patrol thoroughly, when so much of the force must remain close to the Chesapeake. Anything—really anything could be going on in this backcountry.

They rode on for nearly an hour. Van Wagner asked to halt for awhile, concerned that his horse might have picked up a stone. An examination of the hoof showed that his mount had thrown a shoe.

"We must nearly be to the town now," Thomas said. "We'll go on, find the local farrier, and stop at the tavern ourselves while he sees to your horse." He swung back on his own mount, and they set out again at an easy pace.

Within a quarter of an hour, they had turned the last bend and saw a church steeple; and west of it, a large whitewashed building that could only be the inn, and the second building, nearly as large, that was the inn's stable.

_It must be market day_, thought Thomas, as they approached. There were a number of horse and wagons drawn up before the inn. His senses tingled, and he began looking the place over more carefully. _If it's really market day, there should be women and children all over the place._

A small boy ran out the stable, calling out to Thomas. "Look after your horse, sir?" He was a nice little fellow, about ten years old, Thomas guessed, and he reminded Thomas a little of Sam.

Thomas leaned out of his saddle, and asked the boy, "Is the local farrier close by? One of our horses needs shoeing."

The boy paused a moment, and then grinned, "He's up at the stable yonder, sir! Right this way! We'll take real good care of your horses, and you all can get a bite at the inn. Mighty fine cooking there!"

Thomas was reassured by the friendly chatter. The boy ran on ahead, into the barn, shouting, "Dan! Matthew! There's some redcoats out here need Mr. Pike!"

A big man in a leather apron emerged from the stable, hammer in hand. He gave Thomas and his men a level, inscrutable stare. Two other men edged up behind him, eyeing them curiously. He said, in a rumbling bass, "I'm Solomon Pike. We don't see too many of your kind around here."

"This is still Crown territory," Thomas said mildly.

"So they say." The man's gaze shifted to the horses. "Which one has the problem?"

"This one, Mr Pike," said Sergeant Van Wagner, leading his sore-footed mount over. "Threw a shoe a few miles back."

Pike's animosity did not extend to their horses. He bent and unerringly lifted the correct hoof, examining it gently. "I have just the shoe for him. Won't take more than half an hour. That'll be ten shillings." He straightened to his full height and put out his hand. Thomas looked at it a little surprised. The farrier said grimly, "I know about soldiers. Pay me first."

Annoyed, Thomas dug out the coins and handed them to the man (_That's ten shillings to set down in the troop ledger_, he noted), who nodded.

"All right then. Dan, you take him in the stable, and I'll get right to work. Maybe you all," he said, with his back to the soldiers, "want to lift a pint at the inn while I take care of this."

The other stablehand, Matthew, gave them an ingratiating smile. "I can take the other horses in there too, get 'em out of the sun, and give 'em a good feed."

Thomas' neck tingled again. "No. We'll leave them hitched in front of the inn. You can feed and water them there."

The man was disappointed, but shrugged. The little boy ran off in the direct of the inn. "Pa! Pa! We got us some redcoats!"

They dismounted and, as a precaution against thieves as much as rebels, carried their weapons with them into the inn. Entering the common room from the fierce sun outside, the inn was almost impenetrably dark at first. The coolness was refreshingly welcome and the innkeeper gave them a professional smile, showing them to a long oak table. Thomas knew that many British-bred officers would not dream of sitting down with their men, but he thought that would be a ridiculous affectation in a junior officer. Besides, he decided as his eyes, growing adjusted to the shade, swept the room, it would be unwise to lose sight of one another.

The inn's large room seemed normal enough. Surprisingly empty though, considering the number of horses and wagons he had seen outside. The innkeeper set their drinks before him, and before he could launch his description of the bill of fare, Thomas interrupted him.

"Where is everybody?"

The man was flustered, and with a false smile, assured Thomas, "Some of our gentlefolk like a private parlour for their meals. The ladies don't like mixing with strange men in the common room." It was perfectly plausible, and Thomas would have accepted such a reason if the man's eyes had not flicked away from his own in such guilty confusion.

Now somewhat alarmed, Thomas glanced through the window, and was reassured by the sight of their four horses, placidly drinking from the horse trough outside. _Still, something's not right here._ Sergeant van Wagner caught his eye, and Thomas saw the unease in the rest of his men. "I don't think we'll be eating here," Thomas told the innkeeper quietly. "We'll pay you for the drinks, and be on our way." He lifted the tankard for a long, cool swallow. Over the rim, he saw two new men enter, peering about, as temporarily blinded as Thomas had been. And then a number of things happened at once.

"Colonel Henry in the back room, Ned?" The shorter of the strangers asked the innkeeper.

That man, frozen with panic, gasped out an involuntary, "You fool!"

_Colonel Henry?_ Thomas wondered, and then immediately realised, _Not__ one of us! _He dropped the pewter tankard to the floor with a bright clang, and snatched his pistols up from the table. "To arms!" he hissed to his men. "Get to the horses!" Baird and Loveland stood so quickly that the bench they were sitting on fell back.

The newcomers came forward trying to see Thomas and his men. "What the hell!" the taller man shouted, and the shorter pulled a pistol, screaming, "Colonel Henry, Colonel Henry! The redcoats!" He fired blindly, and the bullet splintered a chair rail behind Thomas. There was a sudden outburst from the back of the inn, and armed men began pouring into the common room.

_Good God! We've interrupted a meeting of the local rebel militia! _Thomas fired into the midst of the enemy, and tried to shoulder past the shorter rebel. His partner flung out his arms and seized Thomas in a painful bearhug. Shots were fired, and the innkeeper bleated in despair, "No shooting! Please, no shooting! My kegs!"

A window shattered, and Thomas caught a glimpse of Rory Fraser smashing through it to freedom. A rebel aimed a pistol at his broad back, and Thomas lashed out with his foot and tripped the rebel up, spoiling his aim. Enraged, the man turned on Thomas, and cracked him across the face with his pistol. There was a white flash, and then darkness.

-----

A splash of cold water brought him back to consciousness. His hands were tied painfully behind him, grinding into dry dirt and sharp pebbles, so he knew he was outside and on the ground before he opened his eyes.

"Look at me." said a voice above him, and more water was flung in his face. "Redcoat." Thomas looked, but the first thing he saw was Sergeant van Wagner lying next to him, a hole neatly drilled between his eyes. Those eyes stared blankly at Thomas, blue and strangely opaque. Thomas twisted awkwardly to see the militia leader standing over him.

Sharp-featured, angry, and contemptuous, Colonel Patrick Henry, the commander of the Virginia Militia, stared back. It had not been a good war for him. Interlopers had invaded his beloved Virginia, and were claiming territory not ten miles from his own home.

One of his officers was looking at Thomas' helmet, and showed it to his commander, with a snort. "British Legion. Riding with Butcher Tavington." He spat in Thomas' face. "Tory bastards. You're as good as dead."

One of the militiamen squatted next to Thomas, and asked, "Where you from, boy? _New_ Jersey, _New_ York, _New_ England?" He emphasised the word _new_ with a curious distaste. "Coming South to tell us Virginians to kiss the King's dirty shoe?"

Thomas licked his dry lips, and croaked. "I am from South Carolina, and proud of it. And better the King's shoe than George Washington's arse!" He was rewarded with a kick to already aching ribs. Looking past Van Wagner's corpse, he saw Baird, bleeding and unconscious, but obviously alive. _Where's Loveland? Did Fraser get away?_

Henry was discussing him with his officers. "There must be more of them. They wouldn't send a small patrol out this far." Henry bent over Thomas. "Did you hear me? Where is the rest of the British Legion?" Henry smiled at him coldly. "Tell me, and we'll let you ride away on your fine, stolen horse."

"Where are the rest of my men?"

Another kick. "You're in no position to ask questions, Tory. Your men are dead or dying. Where is Butcher Tavington? Tell me now, or accept the consequences of treachery."

Pain and fear nearly overwhelmed him. _Dinah._If he were to see her as he was now, she would be all over him, bathing him, comforting him, pressing a cool cloth on his brow. Thinking of her made him blink back tears of regret. He would not see her again. This man might let him ride away, and then would have him shot before he was ten yards away. And then, men like these would talk. If word ever got back to Colonel Tavington, he didn't want him to think Thomas had died a coward. He shook his head fiercely, unable to form words with his mouth and tongue dry as a desert.

"String him up," one of the militiamen called out, and the suggestion was enthusiastically seconded by the rest of the band. Colonel Henry frowned.

"Not a bad idea, actually. It might give him occasion to think."

The innkeeper's little son rushed at Thomas and jeered with a grin, "My pa's gonna help hang you, redcoat!"

Thomas was hustled to his feet, and shoved across the stableyard toward a huge chestnut tree. Rough hands held him up, and he was able to look around wearily and see that it was late afternoon, the shadows long and slanting. _My last afternoon_. It was hot and green and full of summer scents.

One of the men had gone for a rope, and was cheered as he triumphantly returned, holding his prize over his head. The big farrier Pike through the rope over a branch, and the other end of it was knotted and forced over Thomas' head.

Colonel Henry told off a handful of men to help with the hanging. Another rebel asked, "You want I should tie his legs? Sometimes they kick something fierce."

One of the men laughed. "I like to see them kick."

"Do not tie his legs," Colonel Henry ordered calmly. "Now, _pull_!"

The shock was unbelievable. Thomas was hoisted by his neck, choking and struggling. His legs flailed with his frantic attempts to find purchase, and the rebels roared at the entertainment_. No air! No air!_ He twisted and fought, seeing red spots before his eyes_. Father, come find me! _The braying voices below were growing fainter. He was on the edge of blackness, when he hit the ground hard, painfully bruising a knee. The noose was loosened, and Thomas drew in huge, grateful gasps of blessed air.

Colonel Henry was standing in front of him, still calm. "Will you tell me now, or shall we try this again?"

Thomas stared at him as at nightmare come to life. No one was coming to save him. This rebel was going to torture him to death, and that monstrous little boy would laugh, as he was laughing now.

Thomas shook his head, and Colonel Henry misunderstood. "He can't talk. Someone give him some water. You." One of the militiamen grabbed Thomas by the head and pushed the mouth of a canteen between his lips. _At least I'll have had a drink of water._ Too soon, the water was withdrawn, and Colonel Henry asked again.

"Will you speak?"  
  
Thomas breathed a faint, bitter laugh. "Would you?"

Colonel Henry stood back. _"Pull!"_

_Please, no! _The rope tore at his neck, his spine was stretched painfully, and he kicked helplessly, futilely, while he swung on the rope. Now glimpsing the sky, now swinging up to look at the ground and the spectators below, now pierced with the sun's pitiless stare full in his eyes, he swung forever; choking, trying to free his hands. His head jerked from side to side, and it seemed he was no longer in command of his useless body, but was already far away, somewhere far from the war and the pain. His eyes bulged, staring; he could fight no more, and then—he hit the ground again.

He gasped again sucking in all the air he could possibly hold. A man was behind him, but Colonel Henry said, "No water this time. He can nod or shake his head." He looked impassively down at Thomas. "Well, which is it?"

Thomas was already so far gone that he was beyond desperation. _I just want this to be over_. Resigned to his destiny, he shook his head, and forced himself to look his tormentor in the eye.

Unimpressed, Colonel Henry turned away. "Finish him," he ordered.

Once again, Thomas was dragged up toward the leafy branches of the chestnut. Kicking again, but more feebly now, he tried to catch a last breath, a last moment. _I didn't get Dinah her ribbons. What a shame. She'd look so pretty, with those cherry-red ribbons in her hair….._

The ground came up to meet him with a shock that jarred all his bones. He couldn't get up, but someone had grabbed him and was pulling him along the ground. Were they going to torture him some more? He faded out of consciousness again, and woke only when he heard a familiar voice calling him.

"Lieutenant Martin! Sir!" Rory Fraser was holding him up, looking him over to see how badly he was hurt. The noose was pulled back over his head, scraping his neck sharply, and Thomas moaned without sound. Thomas heard him talking to someone beyond his vision. "He's bad, Captain." There were rumbles and crashes that Thomas began to hear, as his senses started functioning again.

_Captain Monroe!_ Thomas squeezed his smarting, swollen eyes open and saw that it was indeed his captain, full of concern. The noise of battle was all around him, and it was well into twilight.

"Look after him Fraser." Monroe was gone, back to his horse. Thomas rolled his head to one side, and saw the dragoons firing into the inn. Beyond it, there was shouting from the direction of the stable, and horses' shrill screams.

Another well-known voice, British and cool, was asking, "Will he be all right?" Thomas tried to turn his head, to see his Colonel, to reassure himself that he was really there.

Fraser answered, "Aye, sir, he'll be fine." Thomas rolled his eyes up, and Fraser grinned down at him. The big man was covered with small, oozing cuts. _That's right, he jumped through a window._

Thomas whispered, "I thought you were dead."

Fraser smiled complacently, "I thought I was, too. It's a fine thing to be wrong, now and then!"

"What's happening?"

"I got back to the Colonel, riding cross country. Told him about our wee hornet's nest, here at the tavern. We got here to find yon stramash, and you hanging at the end of a rebel's rope. The Colonel was fair wild at the sight, and led us down on the gomerals like a wolf on the fold." He looked around, and Thomas saw he had a pair of pistols at hand. "Would ye care for a wee drink?"

Thomas nodded thankfully, and Fraser held a flask to his cracked lips. It was not water, but powerful spirits, and Thomas winced as the liquor burned him.

There was a great light casting shadows now. "We've fired the stable and the inn," Fraser told him. "Got the gowks trapped, we have."

_Oh, speak English,_ Thomas thought wearily. He forced himself up on a sore elbow and saw the stable in flames.

"The horses!"

"Dinna fash yerself. We got the horses out, and some fine ones they are too." Thomas saw that the north side of the inn was blazing, and the fire had spread along the roof. He could hear faint screams inside the house. He supposed he should pity the men inside, but he felt very little.

Women's voices, shrill and frantic, came from the inn's doorway. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! We're coming out!"

"Come out, then," Tavington shouted back. "But by God, you had better be unarmed!" He called out to his men, "Spare the women, and spare any man you are certain has surrendered."

Three women stumbled out of the burning building, sobbing and coughing. As they reached the wagons the dragoons had used for improvised fortifications, they were seized and searched for weapons. One of them shrieked when a dragoon's examination became too personal. The soldier laughed, and pushed her away. Now and then a few shots came from the dark lower windows of the inn.

The wind was picking up, and sparks from the stable and inn flew about in the night air like angry fireflies. Some landed on the outbuildings around the inn, and within a few minutes, those buildings were burning, too. A few frightened townspeople approached the dragoons anxiously, and one brave soul asked Tavington if they could be allowed to fight the fire.

Tavington whirled on the man, his face a mask of rage. "Help us fight the bloody rebels first, you fool! If they'll throw down their arms and surrender, you may do as you please."

Just then, there was a great cry of horror from the locals. Sparks from the fire had traveled to the church roof, and the wooden shingles were already smoking. The man who had been negotiating with Tavington took to his heels, and he and the rest of the populace ran up the lane to the church to save it.

_Just what I need,_ Tavington thought furiously. _A pack of rebel sympathizers accusing me of deliberately burning a church!_

A little boy slipped through the broken front window, and ran from the inn. He rushed directly into the arms of Sergeant Davies, who asked his commander, "I've got a rebel here, Colonel! What should I do with him?"

"Spank him!"

Shots came from the back of the inn, where Kinlock was waiting with his men. The last of the rebels had made a last rush, to cut their way out or die trying. A few were captured; more were killed. Kinlock sent a trooper around to report the outcome.

Tavington watched the buildings burn, full of anger and grim satisfaction. They had uncovered a nest of traitors in British Virginia. Evidently unsatisfied with the prospect of peace negotiations, and not accepting the continuation of royal power anywhere in their colony, these troublemakers had been building up their strength, and had not cared to observe the armistice_. And we found them because of a kiss in Williamsburg. How odd Fate is._

He had been alarmed by Fraser's sudden, bloody appearance and grim account. He had been sickened at the sight of young Martin hanging from a tree branch like a common felon. He had supposed him dead, at first, and his first impulse had been to avenge him upon Hanover.

The church roof was burning steadily now. The townsfolk had formed a bucket brigade, but were unable to get the water up to the roof, where it was needed. The church was obviously doomed, and the congregation should busy themselves with saving the contents.

James Wilkins, face grimy with gunsmoke and soot, asked him, "Do you think we should help them?"

_Tender hearted,_ thought Tavington with annoyance. _The man is just as soft as a woman sometimes._

"I won't order that," he finally replied, "but if any man is not otherwise engaged, he can help fight the fire if he wishes to do so." He shrugged and walked away, clearly indicating that he himself would much rather not. Wilkins called his officers over and they went among the men, finally gathering a number of them to help the locals. Tavington was still annoyed, and called out, "They'd do better to wet down their own roofs, though. Idiots," he muttered.

Young Martin was lying under the big chestnut tree, guarded by Trooper Fraser. He would have to recognise the soldier's courage publicly. Fraser drank too much, and dallied with the camp followers too much, but he had done well this time. There were two other wounded men: Loveland and Baird, he gathered. Sergeant van Wagner was dead. _A filthy shame, after losing his family to this war.__ The rebels finally killed him too._

He sat on the dry grass beside Martin. The boy was awake, his eyes open and staring at the flames. Tavington pushed the boy's jacket aside, and took a look at the contusions. "You'll be all right," Tavington said gruffly.

The boy looked at him, and whispered hoarsely. Tavington hoped his voice had not been permanently damaged by choking. "They didn't hang me just once, you know. They wanted to know where the Legion was, so they hauled me up few times, before they decided to kill me. I never told them, though. I never told them anything."

Fraser sniffled, and Tavington glared at him, "Is there whisky in that flask?"

"Aye, sir!…er… I mean nay, sir, no whisky, none at all….."

"Give it here." Fraser passed the flask, and Tavington took a long swallow. He offered it to Martin, who shook his head.

"I'd really rather have some water, sir."

Tavington gave Fraser a look, and the man went off for a canteen. Tavington sat next to his lieutenant in silence. Beyond the flames and sparks, the stars were coming out. Some of his men were tying up the prisoners, and putting them under guard. Others were engaged in the useless struggle to save the burning church. It was quite pleasant to be a colonel, and to be doing neither of those things at the moment.

Fraser came back with the water and helped Martin drink. The boy wiped his mouth, and said, his voice clearer now, "I never expected to be rescued."

Tavington smirked. "Oh, ye of little faith."

Fraser gave Tavington a hangdog look, and shuffled a little. Tavington laughed outright, and took another swig from Fraser's flask, before returning it. "Trooper Fraser!"

The man pulled himself to attention instinctively. "Sir!"

"Fraser, if you can stay sober on duty, I'll make you a sergeant."

The handsome Scots face broke into a glow of joy. "You'll ne'er see the sign o' liquor on me, sir."

-----

They rode together, an easy canter alternating with a slow trot. As soon as Thomas was able to ride, the Colonel had told him that he was to have a fortnight's furlough.

"Go back to Williamsburg, and have that girl of yours coddle you for awhile." He gave Thomas a little wintry smile, pleased that the boy now knew that he could keep no secrets from Tavington. Fraser was ordered to accompany him, and to stay reasonably sober, as befitting his new elevation in rank. Baird and Loveland were too badly wounded to travel far, and were being looked after by the garrison surgeon in Richmond.

Thomas had found his way back to the nice little millinery shop; and he and Fraser had somewhat frightened the ladylike shopkeeper with their rakishly mangled visages. She made up the cherry-red ribbons, and the fine muslin cap with a narrow lace trim, and the embroidered cambric handkerchiefs, into a neat feminine package, which seemed a little incongruous when carried by a fearsome Green Dragoon. They were perfectly polite to the timid young woman, however, and once they were safely out of her shop, she was free to reflect on their retreating backs: to admire their good looks and martial air; and to deplore their regrettable political views.

-----

**Notes**: I stand by my PG-13 rating, based on the _Lord of the Rings_ defense. If thousands of Orcs, Men, and Elves can be slain in bloody combat; if Frodo can be stung by a giant spider and have a finger bitten off; if he and Sam can be nearly strangled to death by Gollum--- one young lieutenant can be nearly executed with the same rating.

Patrick Henry was the commander of the Virginia militia. Yes, the "Give me Liberty, etc." guy. In our timeline he had moved from the estate at Scotchtown to a new one on the North Carolina border by this date, but in my alternate timeline, because of the successful British advance, he had not.

The original Hanover tavern is no longer standing. A later structure, dating from 1836, is now on the site.

I had to say something about the Native Americans. Those of you who have seen stills from _The Patriot_, may have seen a few pictures of Bordon conferring with Cherokees scouts. These scenes were either not completed or were deleted for obvious reasons. Since the film makers decided to renounce all subtlety and any respect for opposing viewpoints, it would not do to admit that nearly all the Native American tribes sided with the British, who had pledged to respect their tribal lands. The subsequent history of the United States' dealings with its aboriginal population speaks for itself.

Slavery throughout the British Empire was abolished in 1833. Again, nothing needs to be added.

Gomeral—fool

Stramash—uproar

Fash---worry

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: Zubeneschamali, LCWA, SlytherinDragoon, pigeonsfromhell, Carolina Girl, and Angelfish23. I'm so glad someone is reading this. I always welcome your input.

Next chapter: **Destiny's Playthings—Ben Martin **More outrageous fortune.


	11. Destiny's Playthings: Ben Martin

__

Disclaimer: Yes, I'm writing fanfiction because I own the rights to the Patriot. As if.

Our heroes suffer the whims of outrageous fortune. Part the Third

Chapter 11: Destiny's Playthings—Ben Martin

"Tom, honey, here's a letter for you."

Thomas rolled over in bed, and peered out from under the pillow he had been shading his eyes with. Dinah had run out to the shops early this morning, and was now back, glowing with pleasure, cherry-red ribbons dancing in her golden-brown hair. Thomas thought she looked very nice—quite respectable, and still feminine and alluring. His furlough was half over now, and had been a continual delight.

She had cried when she had seen the yellowing bruises along his neck from the rope. She had seen enough hangings in her life to know what the marks meant, and would not be satisfied until Thomas had told her the whole of the horrible story. She was frightened, angry, outraged, and protective, and had all but smothered him with her affectionate attentions.

They walked, they visited the shops, they made love; they explored the nearby countryside, they ate well and heartily, they made love some more. Saturday night, Thomas had taken Dinah to a ball at headquarters. She was dressed very prettily, in the first silk dress she had ever owned: a dove-grey gown with pale pink petticoat and stomacher. The music and fine clothes of the dancers made the rather small and ordinary ballroom seem a fairyland to her. She was quick-witted enough to pick up the genteel ways of the people who now surrounded her. She used the best grammar she knew, and was prudently silent when she had nothing to say. The coarse tan on her arms and face, the mark of a common labourer, had faded over the months, leaving her as creamy-skinned as the most refined lady. All in all, she behaved very well, thought Thomas, and nothing unpleasant was said to them. Most of his fellow officers and their ladies did not know her: those who did preserved a well-bred silence.

"After all," Thomas had said to Dinah, when persuading her to go to the ball with him, "I know for a fact Colonel Ferguson will be there with his women, and so why not you?"

Dinah had not been easily convinced. "Tom," she admonished him, wide-eyed. "Miss Polly and Miss Sally are almost _ladies_. They both write with a fine hand, and anyone can see they were brought up as gentlewomen."

She herself had not been, and could not settle down to the idle life of a kept woman. She had always worked, and worked hard: Thomas' uniform was always in immaculate condition when Dinah was there to care for it. She busied herself with a great deal of sewing—making Thomas' shirts, making her own gowns; creating and embroidering her own caps, linen, and handkerchiefs. She knitted socks, and crocheted baby blankets for poor mothers. Lately, having collected enough scraps, she had begun an elaborate honeycomb-pattern quilt. These efforts satisfied her: she freely confessed that she did not miss boiling down hogs at slaughtering time, or soap-making, or working in the harsh sun of a tobacco field.

Her short marriage to Robert Poole had not been prosperous. They had been desperately poor from the beginning, and had lost their little cabin and small farm in North Carolina to the rebels. He had joined the British Legion, and the army had provided them with a kind of home, and the barest necessities; but they had refugeed with only the clothes on their backs. Now she had a gentleman to look after her; and she was enchanted with their comfortable bedchamber, with its elegant furniture, its feather bed, its real glass windows, and even its painted china chamberpot.

To Thomas' amusement, she had actually looked under the bed, and gone on about it.

"But Tom, look! It has pink roses on it, painted so fine you can almost smell them."

Thomas started laughing. "Dinah, I don't think it's roses you're smelling."

"Oh, you!"

She was always happy. Now she sat down on the bed beside him, handing him the letter; and then spread out her skirts, admiring the dainty sprigged muslin.

Thomas knew the handwriting at once. "It's from my Aunt Charlotte in Charlestown."

Dinah pointed out the exquisite penmanship, "That's what I mean by a fine hand. You can always tell a lady by her writing."

__

_Charlestown_

_June 10, 1782_

_My dear Thomas,_

_I pray you are well. Your brothers and sisters also pray nightly for your safety and comfort. They all find Charlestown a busy and interesting place, with no end of new people and things to see. The children are all very well, and recently enjoyed a children's party at Mr and Mrs Leslie's. There were games, and then there was dancing, and charming festive treats. Margaret and Susan very much enjoy their music lessons, and the new friendships they have made through them. Nathan worries about Fresh Water, left to the management of hired men, and all the children miss their good Abigail and the summertime pleasures of the country, but Charlestown has its solaces. That is well, for the children may be with me some time._

_My dear nephew, I must tell you that we have had grave news of your father. As you know, he was among those representing South Carolina who left for the conference in New York. He, Mr Simms and my friend Judge deLancey sailed together on the _Theodosia_ two weeks ago. They did not sail alone: there were two other ships sailing with them for mutual protection._

_One of the ships, the _Manatee_, returned to Charlestown two days ago. Their little convoy was indeed attacked by the French, and one of the ships was sunk. The _Theodosia_ appeared to be in danger of capture, when the _Manatee _made its escape._

_We have heard no further word. I dined Wednesday with Mrs DeLancey and her daughter, who are as concerned as I about the fate of the ship. We drew together for comfort, but our fears seemed to feed upon each other. I took Margaret with me, as she is old enough to dine with ladies, and she is also acquainted with Mrs DeLancey's guest, Miss Wilde. The girls are only a few years apart in age, study with the same music master, and were deep in conversation after the meal. Your father told me that you had met the young lady. She is very pretty, and shared our fears for our missing friends: apparently, she has the highest opinion of the judge._

_I hope and trust all shall be well. While it is clear the French wish to disrupt any peace overtures, they would have little to gain by harming the commissioners. And then, too, we do not know that your father is a prisoner. He is a resourceful man, and may soon send a letter or himself return to Charlestown with an amusing account of his ship's escape._

_Your affectionate aunt,_

_Charlotte Selton_

"Oh, Aunt Charlotte, you're living in a fool's paradise!"

"What's wrong, Tom?"

He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Dinah put a comforting arm around him, while he scanned the letter again.

"My father's ship may have been captured by the French."

"Oh, Tom!"

He got up, and walked around the room, glancing at the letter again. "Of course the French have _everything_ to gain by harming the commissioners! What better way to break up the peace talks? She must think I'm still a child!"

"Maybe she doesn't want you to worry. At least she's not like some women, who make everything out to be as bad as they can, and get everyone stirred up and more scared than they should be!"

He flopped down again beside her. "You're right. It doesn't do any good to dwell on things I can't do anything about. Anyway, Father knows how to take care of himself!"

-----

They had been locked in the brig for over a week. Simms was suffering the worst: he was the oldest, and unused to hardship of any kind. The stink was overpowering, the water suspiciously foul, and the food insufficient.

Ben Martin had decided long ago to stand apart from this conflict, but events constantly conspired against him. First Gabriel had joined the Continentals, then Thomas had joined the British, and now he himself, with no passionate attachment to either side's politics, found himself a prisoner of the French. The claustrophobic little brig was his whole world now; the endless rocking of the ship and the gurgling of water against the hull beat a rhythm that was driving him mad.

Captain Coleridge and Lieutenant Harding had been killed when the ship was taken. Lieutenant Pankhurst had died of wounds three days ago. The crew were chained up in the bilge. The only officer left was little Midshipman Fairfax, a boy younger than Nathan, held with the commissioners as a concession to his status as a gentleman.

The French prize crew spoke little English. Only the ship's surgeon, Valancourt, could converse easily with them. He was a kind young man, thin, dark and serious, and he had done what he could for the ill and injured. He was also, unpleasantly enough for him, charged with translating the prize captain's outrageous ransom demands.

They would be set free, but at a price: the prize captain, Lieutenant Fleury, had looked them over carefully, assessing their clothes, their linen; looking through their belongings before setting a figure for which they could be released in a ship's boat near a British-held port. Not surprisingly, the amounts were staggering, and in Martin's own case, ruinous.

He supposed he could raise the ten thousand pounds Fleury required. If an agent sold Fresh Water and everything in it, he might get as much as seven thousand. His friends would provide the rest. That would leave Martin and his children homeless and penniless, and with no income, no prospects, and a three thousand pound debt to crush all hope out of them. He had tried to explain this to Fleury, with the aid of Valancourt, but got nothing for his pains but a contemptuous laugh and a wink, and the evident attitude that Martin was lying. Fleury was adamant: surely an important gentleman like Monsieur Martin must be wealthy indeed, to be given the position of commissioner for South Carolina. Monsieur Martin should thank Fleury for his moderation, for were not M. _le juge_ DeLancey, and M. Simms being asked for much, much more?

Martin had tried to be a peaceable man since returning home from the last war. He had packed away his warrior days along with his uniform; and had, in a manner of speaking, beaten his sword into a plowshare. He had brought no weapons with him on the voyage. He had begun to regret it. The more he thought of the greedy Fleury, deaf to everything but his own avarice, the more he thought about how the ransom would ruin his children's lives, the more he thought of how they would grieve and miss him if he refused to pay and never returned, the angrier he grew.

Yes, he knew Charlotte would provide a home for them as long as they needed one, but that was an outrageous burden on a young woman, who had a right to live her own life, and not be forced to be mother and father to his children. His children had a right to a home of their own, and a right to have their father with them. Martin sat in the filthy little cage, smouldering.

He was aroused from his bitter thoughts by Simms. The older man was groaning and rubbing his left arm.

DeLancey, sitting by him, was immediately concerned. "Charles? Are you in pain?"

Simms' face was red with effort. He gasped, and tore at his cravat. "I can't breathe!" He convulsed, clutched at his chest and screamed. The guard rushed to the door, and gaped at them through the small opening.

__

"Qu'avez-vous?"

DeLancey tried to recall his French in the stress of the moment. _"Allez chercher Monsieur Valancourt, je vous en prie!"_

The Frenchman stared at Simms, groaning on the floor. DeLancy shouted again, _"Monsieur Valancourt! Mon ami est malade!"_

The guard vanished with the sound of feet scurrying up the ladder to the deck above. Martin filled their common cup with water and helped Simms drink. After a few feeble sips, the man's eyes closed, and he sagged, unconscious.

"His heart," said DeLancey, his face ashen. "What will I say to Dorothy if he dies?"

"He's not dead yet," Martin answered sharply. He turned to the little midshipman, hunched in a corner cushioned with some rags, "Here, Mr Fairfax. Give me that sack, and we can lay Mr Simms down, and put the sack under his head."

Moving awkwardly in the crowded space, the three of them managed to arrange Simms in a moderately comfortable-looking position.

Valancourt appeared, looking anxiously through the door of the brig. Lieutenant Fleury was with him, along with the guard. Valancourt gestured to the sailor to open the door so he could enter and help Simms. Fleury spoke sharply, and the man stepped back.

DeLancey was outraged at what he could understand of the exchange. Martin looked at his questioningly.

Valancourt spoke to them, softly and apologetically. "I am very sorry. Lieutenant Fleury will not permit the door to be unlocked. He says if Mr Simms had agreed to pay his ransom, he would already be safe and free, and would have no need of a doctor."

DeLancey burst out, "Tell that fool that Mr Simms is worthless to him dead!" Simms' breaths were uneven now, harsh and rattling.

Valancourt seemed ashamed, and spoke quickly with the officer. Fleury shook his head, answering Valancourt with a few short words.

Valancourt cleared his throat, and said, "Lieutenant Fleury thinks that even if the old man dies, his body will be ransomed by his widow, yes? And then you gentleman will be more eager to pay, seeing what has happened to your companion."

Ben Martin could hardly speak for the anger in him, but he managed to tell Valancourt. "Surely Monsieur Fleury is not such a fool as to lose a valuable asset like Mr. Simms. His widow will not pay a fifth for him dead that she would alive. The assistance of a doctor is no more than any decent human being would provide. Monsieur Fleury should do as much for his investments."

Valancourt turned and appealed to Fleury. The lieutenant laughed, and waved at the sailor to unlock the door. Once open, Valancourt slipped inside and immediately knelt beside Simms, opening his shirt, and listening to his heart. DeLancey knelt next to him, eager to assist in any way. Martin stood back, fury gathering. It was obvious that Simms was dying, and there was no longer anything he could do to help.

Valancourt sat back on his heels with a sigh. "I am very sorry." He turned to his captain, _"Trop tard. Il est mort."_

Fleury shrugged, and smirked, about to utter something he thought witty, when Martin reached out, grabbed the lieutenant by the arm, and slammed him against the wall of their prison. With his other hand, he pulled Fleury's sword and ran it through the unfortunate guard. The man had only a brief moment of surprise, before he fell face down, keys jangling. Valancourt, shocked, tried to get up, but was knocked off balance, as Fleury stumbled back from the wall.

"Stop!" shouted Martin. "DeLancey! Tell him to stay where he is or I'll kill him!"

DeLancey, overwhelmed, stammered a moment, and then cried out, "Arretez!" Unable to say anything else, he seized the doctor, pulling him out of harm's way. Midshipman Fairfax, with far greater presence of mind, scrambled out of his corner on all fours, and appropriated the dead guard's sword and pistol.

Fleury had been surprised, but he was big, brave, and experienced. He aimed a kick at Martin, which partially connected with his opponent's knee. Martin gasped with pain, and switched the sword to his right hand. It was an absurdly small cockpit of a place for a fight, even had there been only the two of them. Crowded with a dead man, DeLancey forcibly restraining the struggling Valancourt, and the little midshipman underfoot waving a pistol, it was a nightmare. There was no room to wield a sword properly. Martin drove his weapon's hilt into Fleury's face, and weighed his options. A pistol shot now would spell disaster. If someone could unchain their own sailors, they might be able to overcome the small prize crew and retake the ship. He shouted at young Fairfax, "See if you can get to the men and free them!"

He could not see if the boy had obeyed. Fleury had doubled over, as if in pain, and only at the last moment did Martin see the silver flash that warned of the knife in the boot. He twisted away, and the knife flew past his head, slicing a shallow cut into the top of his arm. He flung himself onto Fleury, knee pressing into the man's chest. Bigger than Martin, Fleury threw him off and grabbed at Martin's throat. They rolled back and forth, kicking at Simms' poor lifeless body, and inadvertently slashing at the helpless Valancourt.

Martin choked, and flailed up with his left hand to get a grip on the other end of the sword. He pulled the blade down, sawing recklessly at the back of Fleury's neck. The Frenchman shrieked in terror and pain. Martin, rapt in combat, only knew that there was a weapon in his hand and it seemed good to him. With two more savage slashes, the man on top of him was a dead and bloody weight.

Martin drew a breath and heaved his departed enemy off of him. He stood up, and saw DeLancey and Valancourt staring at him, terrified.

"No one wants to harm you, doctor," Martin growled. "You'll stay here, but don't try anything foolish or I _will_ kill you." Valancourt nodded, speechless.

Martin kicked over the mangled body of his opponent. The man lay as quietly as Simms now, the two of them side by side, macabre companions in death. Martin took one of Fleury's pistols for himself and handed the other to DeLancey. "Here. Point it at anyone who doesn't speak English."

DeLancey cleared his throat, and croaked, "I suppose I should take the sword, too."

"If you want to improve your chances of living—yes, that would be a sound idea."

They locked Valancourt in the brig. DeLancey muttered a diffident "Sorry."

Dark and sad, and imprisoned with dead men, Valancourt quietly replied _"C'est la guerre."_

DeLancey followed Martin out into the passage way leading to the aft hatch. Soft footsteps rustled inside the belly of the ship. Martin saw Fairfax appear in the shadows, taller figures bulking behind him. Silently, the _Theodosia's _crew assembled, readying themselves for the coming battle. Most were armed.

Midshipman Fairfax whispered to Martin. "I left two men guarding the powder magazine. We found some weapons along the way. I don't think any enemy are alive below now."

Martin grunted approvingly. DeLancey was behind him, astonished at the tough little boy, whose uniform was streaked with blood obviously not his own. Martin looked at his fellow commissioner, and DeLancey said defensively, "I've never been a fighting man."

"Very soon," Martin told him grimly, "you will be." Midshipman Fairfax smiled a little with anticipation.

They erupted onto the deck without warning. The small prize crew had no hope after the first terrible minutes, as Martin harvested them like wheat. The _Theodosia's_ crew were angry and vengeful, and not all those who tried to surrender were allowed to. DeLancey, sensibly, stuck close by Martin, as they rushed the quarterdeck. A French sailor leaped down at him from the rigging, cutlass in hand. Instinctively, DeLancey shot him, and the man collapsed, his feet tangled in the ropes, swinging upside down. The officer on deck, a brave man, put up a gallant fight, but was no match for a Benjamin Martin in a state of bloodlust. He was on the deck, bleeding and about to be finished off, when DeLancey caught Martin's upraised hand.

Martin turned on him, enraged; but DeLancey, determined despite his fear, said, "It's over."

The deck was a bloody mess. Midshipman Fairfax began organising the men: ordering the bodies cleared away, and the British flag run up.

DeLancey said, "I'll get the doctor up here to tend the wounded." It had been the strangest and most frightful day of his life, and he paused and straightened his shoulders as he descended the ladder, knowing he would never be the same.

Martin took a moment to find powder and ball, and prudently reloaded his pistol_. I will never travel unarmed again as long as I live_, he vowed. He thought a little longer, and decided he was at peace with that resolve. The wind had freshened, and he looked out over the grey Atlantic, feeling very far from home.

DeLancey was back in moments with Valancourt, who hastened to the quarterdeck. The officer was evidently Valancourt's friend, and the two men talked quietly while Valancourt worked. The doctor spoke up, "Lieutenant Beaumont wishes to know what you intend. Your officers are dead, and you are not seamen. He will take you safely to Port-au-Prince, or any other French port, but nowhere else."

Midshipman Fairfax piped up. "I can navigate. Captain Coleridge taught me. I can get this ship to New York." Martin spared at glance at Mr Midshipman Fairfax. The boy was earnest and determined. "Just let me get to the instruments, and I can take a position."

Valancourt translated for Beaumont and the two men seemed alarmed. Valancourt protested. "Little boy, these gentlemen do not want to trust their lives to a child, I think! This is not a game, and when you lose the ship in the Sargasso, no one will find it amusing."

"Shut up," Martin said, gesturing meaningfully with the pistol. "Just shut up." He beckoned the boy over and whispered. "Are you serious? Can you really navigate, or do you mean you can navigate if you have an adult to help you?"

The boy was offended. "Sir, I have served in the Royal Navy for three years! I had lessons every day with Captain Coleridge and Lieutenant Hardy. I know how to sail a ship, how to steer her, and how to navigate by day or night. I _will _get us to New York, no matter what the damn Froggie says!" Martin felt an impulse to ruffle the boy's hair, but stifled it, knowing that Fairfax might be young, but he was an officer in front of his men, and he had his pride.

The crew grinned. Martin and DeLancey looked at each other wondering if they should ask one of them what they thought of the boy. It was unnecessary.

The boatswain spoke for all of them. "Mr Fairfax is Captain now, gents. He's a good officer, and we'll follow him. You just keep your eyes on the Frenchies, and we'll take care of the ship!"

Valancourt was locked in his quarters, along with the wounded Beaumont. The other survivors of the prize crew were chained in the bilge their turn. Martin slammed down the hatch with a certain satisfaction. Other than reasonable care when giving them food and water, they were safely out of the way.

Within three days, they were sailing into New York harbour.

Mr Midshipman Frederick Mandeville Fairfax was the toast of New York. The story of the _Theodosia's _capture, its revolt from its French prize crew, and its subsequent voyage to New York under the command of a boy of twelve was the talk of the city. The tale grew in the telling. Martin and DeLancey were the heroes of the hour as well, though DeLancey modestly disclaimed any credit. "I simply held a pistol when I was told to do so. Mr Martin overpowered the French officer, and Captain Fairfax got the ship to safety. I was fortunate to be in the company of such brave men."

Ben Martin found that he would never have to pay for a drink the entire time he was in New York. Even the rebel commissioners were captivated by the story, and took a certain pride in an American outwitting and outfighting a foreigner. As he settled down to the serious business of peace-making, he was constantly asked to recount his adventures. He saw the newspapers, imagined them on their way to South Carolina, and sighed for his children. _At least when they read the story, they will know what I was prepared to do to see them again._

---- ****

**Notes: **Fine penmanship, along with fancy sewing and other handwork, music, drawing, French, dancing, and (in the 18th century, not so much the 19th) dessert cookery, were the accomplishments that marked a lady. Not all ladies possessed all these accomplishments. Readers of _Pride and Prejudice_ will remember that Mr. Darcy (and Miss Bingley) expected more. If Dinah watches her speech, and finds someone to teach her a lady's hand, she could very likely make the grade in the colonies, since she can do any kind of sewing, knows the recipes for four kinds of cakes by heart, and dances very well.

A prize crew were the body of sailors put aboard a captured ship. The prize crew were given a share of the value of the captured ship when it was sailed home; so being part of a prize crew was a very desirable task. And whatever his technical rank-- Fleury a lieutenant, and Fairfax a midshipman--the officer in command of a ship was properly addressed as Captain.

On his return home from the war, Banastre Tarleton (the inspiration for Tavington) was captured and forced to pay ransom to the French. It did happen, and not infrequently.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: ladymarytavington, LCWA, Zubeneschamali, nomorebraces, pigeonsfromhell, and Carolina Girl.

Next chapter: Web of Destiny—Polly and Sally learn the extent of their inheritance; Tavington, Thomas, and Ferguson all face major decisions.


	12. Web of Destiny

_Disclaimer: Don't own, just squatting._

Tavington, Thomas and Ferguson all face difficult decisions.

**Chapter Twelve: Web of Destiny **

Jonathan Boggs, attorney-at-law, had journeyed to Williamsburg, escorted by Tavington and his men. Ushered into the parlour of Tavington and Ferguson's lodgings, he spread his papers about him with an air of importance. Adjusting his spectacles, he began to read aloud.

"'This second day of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty, I, Samuel Lightfoot Featherstone of Richmond Virginia, being of sound mind and understanding, do make this my last will and testament, and revoke hereby all other previous wills made by me.'

'My soul I resign to Almighty God, trusting in his infinite mercy. My worldly goods I bequeath as follows:'

'Item: I name as my executor Jonathan Boggs, esquire, and authorise payment to him of two hundred pounds, to be paid out of my estate.'

'Item: I further authorise him to make reasonable arrangements for my burial, not exceeding the sum of twenty-five pounds.'

'Item: I bequeath the sum of five hundred pounds to St. John's Church, to be invested and the interest distributed to the poor of the parish, according to the good judgement of the rector. These monies shall be called the Featherstone Fund in perpetuity.'

'Item: The balance of my estate I bequeath to my nieces, Paulina Elizabeth Featherstone and Sarah Lucretia Featherstone, to be divided equally between them. In the event one of my nieces has predeceased me, the entire estate shall devolve upon the survivor.'"

Polly and Sally, seated demurely on the sofa facing the lawyer, exchanged a look of quiet excitement. Pattie stood by them, and Tavington, asked to witness the proceedings, had stationed himself behind them, in an armchair by the fireplace.

"'I do this in testimony that my nieces have been cruelly and unjustly wronged by me, and I offer this restitution in the hope of their forgiveness, and the forgiveness of Almighty God.'"

Sally, impatient with the lawyer, asked. "Well, how much is it in all, our inheritance?"

The lawyer, his reading interrupted, was displeased, but concealed it with all the forbearance due to wealth. "Not counting the real estate, Madam, Mr. Featherstone left at least twenty-eight thousand pounds. With the sale of said property, the estate will of course be worth rather more—perhaps in the neighborhood of thirty-four thousand." The girls gasped in unison. "The estate's debts have all been discharged, and after my fee," the man gave a small, oily smile, "you each stand to inherit between fifteen and eighteen thousand pounds."

Pattie, thunderstruck, turned and looked at Tavington, who had nearly dropped his teacup. The girls were rich, richer than either of them. Richer than either of them was ever likely to be. It was absolutely astounding.

The lawyer, satisfied at the stir he had created, once more adjusted his spectacles, and continued with the document.

"'In the event that my nieces are unmarried and not of legal age, I designate my executor, Jonathan Boggs, to pay them each an allowance of 25 pounds per quarter from the interest of the principal; upon their majority, the principal is to be theirs absolutely. He is further authorised to act for both for my nieces while they remain unmarried or not of legal age.

'Signed this day by Samuel Lightfoot Featherstone, and witnessed by Jonathan Boggs and Charles Sewell.'"

There was a short silence.

Polly was bewildered. "I had absolutely no idea that our uncle was so well-off."

Boggs immediately supplied the answer. "Your aunt, his wife, Anne Sedley Featherstone, brought a large settlement to the marriage, which your uncle invested wisely. These monies reverted to him with your aunt's death."

Sally gave Polly a half-smile, and leaned over to whisper in her ear, "At least she was good for something, the-----"

She caught Boggs' scandalised expression, and sat back again, with a charming smile that made Boggs clear his throat in confusion.

He continued. "The question, then, is the extent and holdings of said estate. Mr. Featherstone had considerable property in Richmond: his own home, a warehouse, three houses that he let, and part ownerships in a grist mill and a public house. Do I understand that the young ladies wish these properties to be liquidated?

The young ladies indicated turned at looked to Pattie for guidance. He said, "We havena discussed that." He asked them, "Do you want to keep the house? It'd be a place for you to live, free and clear."

"No!" cried Sally. "We never want to live there again!" She muttered feelingly, "We never want to live in Richmond again!"

Polly agreed softly, "We have very unhappy memories of our time there. But we would like to look the place over. We might want some of the furnishings, and some other keepsakes."

"Like our mother's jewelry!" Sally blurted out, remembering old wrongs.

The lawyer made notes. "Of course," he cautioned them, "the process of liquidating the holdings might take some time, and it will be impossible to divide the total estate until its value is realised. However, I suggest the young ladies visit the residence as soon as possible, if they wish to remove any items for their personal use. A portion of the ready money from the bank accounts could be made available to Miss Featherstone shortly. There is, however, an impediment in Miss Sarah's case."

"What impediment?" asked Pattie, suspiciously.

The lawyer smiled, oozing charm from every pore. "Miss Sarah Featherstone is not of age. While Miss Featherstone has had her twenty-first birthday, Miss Sarah, by my reckoning, is but nineteen years old, and must have a guardian."

There was a brief silence. Tavington had been brought up short by the lawyer's continual use of the term _young ladies_. He had never really considered how very young Polly and Sally actually were. Pattie was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. The women's silence was that of gathering wrath.

"I see," bit out Sally, her voice growing louder with every sentence. "Polly and I can be orphaned, abused and robbed by our uncle, and that was all right, because he was our _guardian. _When we were all but slaves in Norfolk, abandoned there by there by our uncle, no one thought that we needed a _guardian_ to despoil and exploit us. We walked nearly the entire way from Norfolk to Charlestown, living hand to mouth, nearly starving—sometimes starving nearly to death, preyed upon by the worst men on the face of the earth, and not one of them thought to ask us if our _guardian_ would permit it. We live the only way we can, and no one thought to find a _guardian _for us. Now you say I can't have my rightful money, part of which I know was stolen from me by my uncle, because I need a _guardian." _She shot up from the sofa, cheeks nearly as red as her flaming hair, and advanced on the fidgeting Boggs. "I don't need a _guardian._ I need my money!"

Boggs kept the table between himself and the angry, beautiful young woman.. "I only tell you the law. These gentleman can explain it to your satisfaction, I am sure."

He looked an appeal at Pattie, who reluctantly told Sally, "Mr. Boggs is right, my dear. The law willna let you be mistress of your fortune until you are of age."

Polly took Sally by the hand, and pulled her back to the sofa. Sally sat down, twisting her hands, and shaking off Polly's soothing touch. She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped her eyes. "I'm so afraid. So afraid. You say I'm rich, but that I can only have an allowance. What if something happens to the rest? What will happen to me? Why can't I have my money like Polly? It's not fair."

Pattie sat by her, and laid a calming hand on her arm. "Dinna fear, my Sally," he told her. "You'll get every penny. I swear I'll see to it. I'll make arrangements to be declared your guardian." She looked up at him, hopefully. "It's only for a little over a year. In the meantime, I can see that your fortune is protected, and that it's invested to pay you a good income for the rest of your life. Polly's money, too, if she likes."

Polly smiled and reached over to squeeze his left hand.

"That is quite impossible," protested Mr Boggs. "Miss Sarah's guardian must be the man of law duly appointed in the will. Her uncle named me as executor—"

Pattie rounded on him with a glare.

Boggs was not to be deterred. "—if the young lady were not already married. Had she been, the point would have been moot; for her husband would naturally have sufficed, but in lieu of any legal relationship—"

"And what if I marry the lass?" Pattie leaned over the table, at his most pugnacious.

The lawyer was honestly bewildered. "To which of these young ladies are you betrothed? I confess myself confused. Is this gentleman," he indicated Tavington, "then affianced to Miss Featherstone?"

Sally looked at Pattie, her face transfigured with love and hope. Polly, taking in the situation, bowed her head. She was crushed, but tried not to show it, looking up with an encouraging smile at her sister. _What must be, must be. It will be best for all of us, and so much better than I ever imagined._

Pattie looked around quizzically at Tavington, who gazed back at him, brows lifted. _Don't look at me, my friend. You're the one who involved himself with two beautiful women at once._ Marrying Sally might be a solution, but hardly a perfect one: Polly was bound to be hurt, which Tavington disliked. Of the two women, he had always fancied Polly more himself. _Not_, he reproved himself, _that I fancy her either. No. I am married to Elizabeth, who is the loveliest and cleverest of women: far better read; an admirable musician; a hard-working planter and matriarch-in-the-making…._

In a moment of imagination, he saw himself a bachelor again. Had he been free, would he have taken Polly, with her beauty, her sweet nature, her tarnished honour---and her fifteen thousand pounds? _Yes, I would. And I would think myself lucky and scorn the gossips._ _Fifteen thousand pounds can rehabilitate a lady's virtue fairly thoroughly. She'll have to beat the suitors off with a musket butt, when this becomes common knowledge_

Certainly, there were some circles in which the girls would never be welcome. The breath of scandal would cling to them to the end of their days. If Pattie were to marry Sally, could he take her home to his family, to his circle of intellectual friends in Edinburgh? Would Sally fit in?

_She's extraordinarily beautiful, she's wealthy, and she obviously loves Pattie. Perhaps that would be enough for the world. Then, too, it would be a bold man who would dare insult Pattie's wife._

Pattie frowned, and after a long moment, said, "We'll need to talk amongst ourselves. If you'll be good enough to call tomorrow morning, we'll settle the business then."

------

"Is that really your father, Tom?" Sam Willett and a group of other young officers were gathered around Tom's table in the King's Arms common room. The New York newspaper was full of the _Theodosia's_ daring escape from the French. His comrades from the Legion had returned to Williamsburg, and celebrated the news as if the victory belonged to one of their own. In a way, it did. None of the junior officers from other regiments had a father so heroic.

"You must be very proud of him," commented Ensign McKay of the Queen's Rangers, a little enviously.

"I am," smiled Thomas. This was all so wonderful. He was so used to thinking of Father as a farmer and a man of peace, that it had been quite a shock to read of his ferocious attack on his French captors. Intermingled with the surprise and pride, though, was a definite feeling of satisfaction. Father had tried to be evenhanded throughout the war, but French intervention had forced him to take sides. Father was definitely in the British camp, now. Thomas reckoned that Gabriel had at last been scored off pretty thoroughly.

He called for another round for the table.

William Tavington and Patrick Ferguson sat at a quiet corner table, nursing their pints, and watched the boys' excitement with some amusement.

"I canna blame the lad," Pattie admitted. "It's a glorious thing when a boy gets to hear of his father playing the hero."

Tavington took a sip, and shrugged. "I suppose so." Secretly he was a little envious himself. He thought of his own father: a drunken, foolish trifler, unable to maintain himself in the position of wealth and eminence he had been born to. If only he could have had a moment's pride in him. "I confess that I misjudged Captain Martin. The one time I met him, he seemed to me a mild-mannered, kindly farmer. Lieutenant Martin told me he had served in the last war, but I never imagined that such a fire still burned under the paternal surface."

"It was the ransom, I ween. Couldna bear to see his bairns beggared. As good a reason to kill a man as any."

They shared a grim laugh, and clinked tankards.

Pattie asked, "And have you heard lately from your lady wife?"

"She's still doing too much, trying to care of everyone and everything." Tavington was irritated at the thought. "I hope she's taking care of herself, but she certainly has the bit between her teeth where that plantation of hers is concerned."

"If we have a peace, you can get on home and help pull the load aside her."

"The sooner the better. I've lost my appetite for soldiering."

Pattie nodded, "And gained one for husbandry—of all sorts!"

"Ah, the ladies," agreed Tavington. "What would we do without them?"

Pattie grew glum. "And what shall I do with mine?"

They were silent a moment, considering the situation.

Pattie hesitated, and then confided his concerns. "The poor lasses have no one but me. This fellow Boggs might be an honest man—or not. Sally and Polly have been robbed and betrayed in the past, and it seems mad to trust Sally's fortune to a stranger."

Tavington was determined to keep his mouth shut, and not express an opinion, unless asked directly. Taking up Pattie's rhetorical question could land him in dangerous waters. Besides, unlike himself, Pattie was a man with a family: parents who loved him, a large circle of friends and well-wishers.

Pattie took a long draught, set down the tankard, and spoke seriously. "I canna stay in the army forever—nor much longer. My right arm's well nigh useless, and the rheumatism plagues me more and more. I was thinking of going home to visit my family. And then—perhaps I'd write a book, and make some improvements to my repeater. Not in Scotland, though: the cold will get into my bones and finish me off within two winters."

This seemed a safer subject. "Where were you thinking of settling?"

Pattie leaned back, "Well, that's the question. I still have the estate on Tobago. My brother's there now, but there's plenty of room. It's not a bad place, though the house needs sprucing up."

"There's always South Carolina," Tavington offered with what he hoped was casual subtlety. "Not as fever-infested, and not as exposed to hurricanes."

Pattie gave him a shrewd glance. "I wouldna come alone."

Tavington returned the look frankly. "No, I didn't suppose you would."

"She pleases me, you see, does Sally." Pattie gave an odd smile. "I'm at peace in her company. I don't deny that the money makes a great difference. It makes us independent of the world. But it would be pleasanter if our neighbors didna shun us."

"We wouldn't."

"And what about your lady?"

Tavington took a breath. "She'll trust me to tell her the truth that matters about you: that you are my friends, that you are honourably married, and that you love one another." He decided to ask about another issue that concerned him. "And what about Polly?"

Pattie sighed. "Ay, there's the rub. My poor Polly will be sore grieved. It isna fair, but I canna marry them both."

"Not in South Carolina, anyway."

They laughed. Pattie finished his drink, and stood. "I'll speak to them directly. When Sally and I are married, Polly can never again be more than sister-in-law to me. I expect she'll have a cry on your manly shoulder."

"Will you take the girls to Scotland with you?"

"Not Polly, though it seems cruel to separate them. Once it's settled where we are to live, perhaps I'll send Polly on to set up housekeeping. Or she may decide to settle somewhere on her own. Her fortune is bound to attract the men like flies to honey."

"I thought the same. Would you like me to write to Elizabeth and ask her about properties?"

"Well, why not?"

-----

_Williamsburg___

_July 7, 1781_

_My dearest Elizabeth,_

_I received your last with the new linen. I was touched that, busy as you are, and in indifferent health, you found time to sew for me so beautifully. It was a pleasant reminder of you and of Arcadia. You say you are well, and I know you would not tell a falsehood. Still I feel concern for you, so far away, and long to come home and give you the cosseting you deserve. Instead, I am sending you a little miniature portrait that a young fellow from von Fuchs' Jaegers painted of me. I think it's not unlike. Now, that is a hint that you must reciprocate and have your own likeness taken! The other presents enclosed are various oddments for the children. The shawl is for Charlotte._

_By now, you must have heard about the escape of your old friends DeLancey and Martin from the French. Young Martin is over the moon about his father's heroics. From what I gather from him, the men's safety will set at rest a number of hearts in Charlestown. Poor Simms! The papers stir up great indignation about his fate. Seen from a heartless and objective viewpoint, though, it points out clearly to the rebels that the French regard them only as pawns in their struggle against us._

_From the news that trickles to us, some progress has been made. New England remains intransigent, and is willing to make certain concessions in order to obtain self-rule. Britain will keep the naval base in Rhode Island, and all territory north of New Hampshire and Vermont will be incorporated into Nova Scotia, but those fierce little colonies refuse to acknowledge the authority of the Crown. They very well may set up their little Republic of New England. The Crown could decide that reducing them to submission by force of arms is neither profitable nor desirable. The slow attrition by economic embargo and neglect might bring them to heel more effectively, if more gradually._

_The Virginians are also determined to go their own way. Their wings will be clipped, of course, by the reduction of their territory. Virginia's claims to ownership of the Kentucky territory will be rejected. Do not lose that land grant from Judge Henderson. My friend Ferguson, through his many contacts, has heard that the Crown is very interested in a loyalist settlement of the territory. The whole legal issue of Henderson's purchase is being reopened, and it is felt, that since the Indians will not be dispossessed by its settlement (since so few of them live there permanently), that providing land to loyal veterans will create a bulwark against rebel expansion. It's rather like the old Roman idea of planting new territory with towns of soldiers who may be mobilised in an emergency. Even Lord Cornwallis, once granted land in the Ohio territory, is lending his support to the Kentucky plan. We can insert a British presence all the way to the Mississippi, while still honouring our agreements with the native population._

_Britain will definitely keep the southeast corner of Virginia anyway, and build up a large naval presence here, in order to command the Chesapeake. The area around Richmond may be ceded to the rebels for the sake of peace, but the debate wavers back and forth._

_As to New York: it is certain that we will keep the city. It is the best harbour in North America, and vital to our navy. Long Island, Manhattan, Staten Island, and all the smaller islands of the harbour area will be ours, which makes a respectable small colony in itself. The fate of the rest of New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania is still undecided. Delaware and Maryland seem destined to remain in Virginia's sphere of influence, unfortunately. It seems a shame to lose Baltimore, even temporarily. There is some interest among the colonies north of Virginia, however, in accepting the King's suzerainty in exchange for greater self-determination within the colonies themselves. And of course, there is the whole untidy issue of the rebel combatants themselves. Threats and counterthreats of treason prosecutions fly back and forth._

_What a tangle! I think it unlikely the Crown will ever again be so blind to its subjects' grievances. One can now see so many ways by which the war could have been averted. However, what's done is done, and had there been no war, I should never have found you._

_Enough of the affairs of the great! My main business is to tell you that Ferguson is considering settling in South Carolina! I wonder if you know of any properties close to Arcadia that might suit him? He has a good fortune, and while not demanding a huge estate, would enjoy some land of his own. Is the next-door home of your old enemies the Crawfords still for sale? If so, nothing could please me more—though of course, there is no house! Ferguson will be bringing his bride with him, a very beautiful young woman from Virginia. They would not come for some time, though, because Ferguson feels he must go home to see his family in Scotland first, once peace is declared._

_Peace must be declared! So many hopes depend upon it! I could then demand leave at once, to come to you with all speed. You must be delightfully expectant by now: 'plein comme un oeuf,' as the French say. How I should love to see you! Perhaps by next_

"Colonel Tavington?" A knock at the door followed. Tavington realised that the knocking had been going on for some time.

He looked up from the desk and called out, "Enter."

An officer from the 17th Light Dragoons, his old regiment, opened the door. _Lincoln__—Langley—no, Lawrence!_ The young captain bowed politely and said, "General O'Hara's compliments, sir, and he invites you to dinner tonight at the Governor's Palace."

Such invitations were not unknown, but Tavington suspected that O'Hara had something he wanted to discuss with him. A working dinner, certainly. And he had not much time dress for it. "I would be delighted. Thank the General for his kind invitation. I shall certainly be there. "

The young officer dismissed, Tavington's thoughts returned to his letter. Quickly he finished it, and knew he must write a separate little note to Julia.

_Perhaps by next September we shall have the final word. My regards to Charlotte and the children._

_Your loving husband,_

_William_

_My dear Julia,_

_I hope the box of paints pleases you. I was in the mood to send gifts, since I have had a good long stay in Williamsburg, and have had time to shop. Perhaps you will astonish us by following in your father's footsteps as a artist!_

_Your sister gives a good account of you all—though it was lucky that the tooth Sophie lost in the Roman riding incident was not a permanent one. Sophie is too small for such tricks, and it is no sport for ladies anyway. Better for her mother to obtain a pony and sidesaddle for her, if she is determined to learn to ride. I suppose in the end it will be your sister who arranges it all, of course._

_Still, riding is good exercise for you and George, and when I come home we shall have a proper hunt. We are all very hopeful about the peace._

_And no doubt you heard of the _Theodosia_ affair! Perhaps now you will think better of Judge DeLancey. Perhaps I shall too. I received a letter from your sister Amelia a few weeks ago, detailing her exquisite sensibilities, which were very high-flown indeed. It seems that upon his departure for New York, the judge had given her a reading list for the improvement of her mind, and she has been diligently working her way through it. Plainly, her time in Charlestown has not been all balls and entertainments!_

_Your loving brother,_

_William_

He dried and sealed them hastily, and prepared himself for a dinner out, wondering what might be on O'Hara's mind.

----

Thomas was a little tipsy going upstairs. Going over the newspaper reports of his father's exploits, having them read aloud, receiving the congratulations and the free drinks of other officers had made this a memorable day.

He opened the door to his quarters and found Dinah, lying face down upon the bed, sobbing. Bewildered, he sat down beside her, and laid a hand on her silky hair.

"Dinah, what's wrong?"

She sobbed, and buried her face in the pillow. "Don't be angry with me!"

"I'm not angry with you. Why would I be angry with you?" He stroked her, wondering what could have set her off. "Sit up," he said, "and let's talk."

Slowly she pulled herself up, and then moaned, putting a hand on her stomach.

"Are you all right?"

She sat beside him, swaying slightly, and finally whispered, "I'm going to have a baby."

Thomas took a breath to speak, and then let it out again. "Oh."

Dinah stared at her lap. "Please don't be angry, and please, please, don't send me away. I'll try not to be a trouble to you."

"We have to get married."

"Tom, no! It will ruin you! I'm no lady, and the Colonel will never approve!"

"If he doesn't approve, then I'll resign my commission and go home." Secretly, Thomas hoped it would not come to that. He loved the army, and wanted to see the war through to the finish. Still, he would try to catch the Colonel in a good mood, ask his permission, and hope for the best.

He put his arm around Dinah, and squeezed gently. "Have you had anything to eat today?"

"Not much. I couldn't keep much down, and I've been so worried—"

"Let's have the maid bring up a little something, and then you'll feel better. And then tomorrow I'll have a talk with Colonel Tavington."

-----

There were only four others at dinner besides Tavington and O'Hara, and no ladies were present. _A working dinner indeed_, thought Tavington. Abercrombie and York, von Fuchs and von Voigt. There was technical talk, soldiers' gossip, and a few decidedly tall tales. The meal consumed, they sat over the claret together at some length. Tavington waited for O'Hara to reveal the reason for the invitation. Nothing much developed, but when the time came to take their leave, O'Hara stopped Tavington.

"A private word, if you please, Colonel."

Mystified, Tavington followed O'Hara into the library, and was invited to sit down.

"I have received a letter from the Lord General," O'Hara remarked. "Progress is being made is reaching a peace agreement, but it is clear that any peace made must be an armed one. There will be alarms, incursions, and uprisings for years, on both sides. A large military presence will be necessary for the foreseeable future."

Tavington nodded, his mind abuzz with a little too much good claret.

"You will be pleased at his Lordship's news. The British Legion has been incorporated into the regular establishment of the British Army."

Tavington's mind cleared at once. This _was_ good news! The Legion were now regulars, and would receive the pay and benefits of regulars, not of mere provincial troops. His own pay would increase substantially. _More money—always a good thing!_ _And a real colonelcy-I'll no longer be technically merely a major of the 17th Dragoons!_

O'Hara continued, "Of course, the Legion will be remain on patrol until a permanent peace is established. Then it will probably remain garrisoned in British Virginia."

"Of course," Tavington agreed. Quite reasonable. This was one of the places most likely to spark into hostilities again.

"His Lordship may be rejoining us a the close of the peace conference. We may all be here for some time, though he may be busy with settling displaced Loyalists and those soldiers who do not wish to reenlist in our new colony of Kentucky."

_We may all be here for some time! _Tavington suddenly realised that his expectations of a speedy reunion with Elizabeth were likely to be disappoInted. His promotion to colonel of the regulars was a fine thing, but he had anticipated leaving the army at the close of hostilities. Now a different possibility presented itself: years of garrison duty—possible further promotion. Certainly he could obtain leave to visit Elizabeth now and then, but either she would have to join him here or endure long separations.

And she wouldn't care much for life as a garrison wife. He could gather from her letters how much she loved Arcadia, how skilled she was at managing the plantation, how attached she was to the life she had there. It was something that had gnawed at him from time to time. When he arrived at Arcadia to stay, what then? What would his role be? He knew nothing of planting, nothing of cotton and tobacco, little of the life of an estate owner. His wife was the expert, he the ignorant amateur. The birth of their child would render her in need of assistance for the time of her convalescence, but would she really care to be relegated to the nursery upon his return? Tavington imagined his first efforts at managing his wife's plantation, as she looked on with her greater experience. Inwardly, he winced.

O'Hara was going on about arrangements in Virginia after the war. It seemed that he was expecting promotion himself, and a long stay. He seemed quite pleased at the notion. Tavington too felt the pull of the familiar; the army that had been his home so long. It was here that he was the expert. Perhaps here was where he belonged.

He returned to his quarters, and listened for any sound from Pattie's rooms. All was quiet, so perhaps he had missed any hysteria of joy or grief that might have transpired while he was at dinner. Gratefully, he retired for the night, too full of his own concerns to have time for anyone else's.

----

Early the next morning, Thomas, dressed irreproachably in his clean uniform and best linen, begged an audience with his Colonel.

Tavington was in an odd mood. He had been offered a chance a different sort of life than the one he had anticipated for months, and he felt rather ambivalent about both, a hitherto unknown condition for him. After several hours lying in the darkness the night before, turning his varying futures over in his head until they were threadbare, he had finally decided to postpone the evil day of decision, and had gotten some much needed sleep.

Now the Martin boy was here, looking extraordinarily clean and most determined. Tavington wondered if he meant to request leave to visit his family. Plainly the boy had prepared himself carefully for this interview, so it must be something important to him.

"Lieutenant Martin," Tavington said courteously. "What did you need to see me about?"

Thomas stood ramrod straight before him, and clearly declared, "I wish to request your permission to marry, sir!"

Tavington was surprised. He thought first of Amelia—surely not! Still, there was no reason to quash the boy immediately. Instead, he asked coolly, "And who is it that you wish to marry, Lieutenant?"

"Mrs. Poole, sir."

Tavington regarded him gravely. "I believe I already expressed my opinion to you about Mrs. Poole's suitability."

Thomas did not waver. "Circumstances have changed, Colonel."

"She is with child, then."

"Yes, sir."

Tavington laughed sourly. "That is hardly a reason to ruin your own life! Tying yourself to an ignorant young woman of low origins and doubtful morals will inconvenience you forever. And what of the girl herself? Other officers' wives will not wish to know her, and you cannot force their acquaintance."

"If worse comes to the worst, I can send her home to Fresh Water. Father will understand, and be kind to her. But I must marry her, for deserting her is something Father would _not_ understand."

Tavington sat down and looked the boy over. He had changed in his time with the Green Dragoons. Taller, stronger, more sure of himself; but still, so very young! Besides, he liked the boy, and hated the thought of young Martin spoiling his life out of a sense of honour run mad.

He asked, "Can she even read?"

"She's not stupid, Colonel," Thomas defended her. "She's just not had many opportunities. Yes, she can read, _and_ write. She can sew, and cook, and clean. She's been a farmer's wife, and a soldier's wife, and that is exactly that kind of wife I need. You've _seen _Fresh Water, sir. It's no mansion. It's a working farm, and Dinah will fit right in. Anything she needs to learn, she can learn; but she suits me well enough as she is."

Tavington sighed. The boy had said his piece, and said it well. And after all, how different was his situation from Pattie's? Sally was far richer, and perhaps a little better educated than Dinah Poole, but her experiences were as questionable—and possibly worse. More importantly, the boy was a good officer, and Tavington had no desire to replace him.

"Very well," he said coldly. "You have my permission. Remember that I expect the future Mrs. Martin to do nothing to embarrass you, or the British Legion. I suggest you find someone to polish her behaviour somewhat. You might not care about it now, but you will someday. Dismissed."

Thomas smiled radiantly. "Thank you, sir!" He was away before he could see Tavington's faint grimace of disappointment.

-----

**Notes:** A little known bit of trivia. In 18th century Britain and America, the name Paulina would have been pronounced Pau-line-a, not Pau-leen-a. Just as in the same period, Maria was pronounced Ma-rye-a, not Ma-ree-a.

In 18th century Virginia law, both men and women were of age at 21. Parental consent was required to marry prior to that age. For men, this mattered little, since records indicate that very few men married younger than 21. However, if the parents were deceased, it appears that the consent of a guardian was not necessary.

Patrick Ferguson was also the inventor of an early repeating rifle.

Remember that Virginia was then much larger than the present day state. West Virginia had not yet broken off (as it did during the Civil War), and Virginia claimed possession of what is now Kentucky.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: ladymarytavington, pigeonsfromhell, Slytherin Dragoon, Zubeneschamali, and LCWA.

Next chapter: Destinations: Where does fate lead our boys?


	13. Destinations

Disclaimer: Only own Patriot fanfiction.

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Chapter 13: Destinations

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_August 3, 1781_

_Williamsburg_

_My dear Aunt Charlotte_,

__

Have no fears for me, dear Aunt. I am well and safe, and received news of Father's triumphant arrival into New York Harbour. I shall write to him as soon as I hear he has returned home. We expect Lord Cornwallis to come back to us with the next few weeks, and perhaps then we shall know more about the arrangements made for all of us in the future.

My news is of a happier sort. I am married. My bride, Dinah, is the prettiest girl you ever saw, and the best and loyalest. She and I were married last Tuesday. Perhaps I am young to marry, but so much has happened, and so much may still happen, that I feel justified in seeking our present happiness.

My friends, Sam Willett and Billy Miller, attended us at the church. Dinah is a true soldier's wife, and wishes to stay with me at all hazards. If, however, I feel she needs a quieter place in the future, I know I can trust in my Father and in you to provide a safe haven for her.

I'm glad that Margaret and Susan have made friends with Miss Wilde. She is a lovely young lady, and very refined. I hope that they have learnt their music, for then Father promised to buy a pianoforte, the first ever at Fresh Water. We would all enjoy that very much!

Please say hello to my brothers and sisters for me, and give them the presents in the box. There should be names on all of them. The fan is yours because the lady painted on it reminded me of you!

Your loving nephew,

Thomas Martin

-------

Thomas and Dinah's marriage was not the only army wedding taking place. By the beginning of August, the banns were published, and Patrick Ferguson and Sarah Featherstone were man and wife.

It was a small wedding, with only Tavington and Polly in attendance. Sally was radiant in misty blue; wearing her mother's pearl earrings, and her hand adorned with a sapphire wedding ring. Polly had been nearly as lovely, dressed in pale peach silk and another magnificent plumed hat. With admirable self-command, she had smiled throughout the ceremony, and only wept later, after Pattie and Sally had gone to their room—theirs alone now—to consummate their nuptials. She had knocked on Tavington's door, and spent most of the night sobbing in his arms, curled in his lap as he sat in his favourite chair before the fire.

He had been horribly tempted to comfort her in the most obvious way. It would have been so easy and so pleasurable, but he had resisted taking advantage of a heart-broken, vulnerable woman. He was very fond of Polly, he admitted to himself. Once that Rubicon was crossed, there would be no turning back; and he would not only betray his bond with Elizabeth, but compromise Polly's chances, now surprisingly good, of making a decent marriage.

Without any of the four of them having spread the news abroad, the new-found wealth of the Featherstone girls had somehow become public property. Patrick's general popularity made his fellow officers hold their peace at the news he would wed his mistress, and it was, after all, not unheard of. The sisters' reputed fortunes had grown with every gossiping tongue, and they were now mighty sums. A few thought Pattie unfastidious: many thought him "damned lucky."

As to Polly, the story told was that she was the innocent sister who had been provided for at Sally's demand, and out of Patrick's well-known good nature.

Tavington was faintly surprised that nearly everyone seemed to be swallowing such a palpable lie with such good grace_. I suppose there is some sort of plausibility there, but having seen them all together in quite informal circumstances, I_ _know it cannot be true._ Still, Polly was handling it well, holding her head high, and not displaying shame, or the slightest hint of feeling ill-used.

Pattie had gathered the girls' inheritance into his capable hands. He had been anxious to liquidate the Richmond property as soon as possible, since there was a question about its ultimate sovereignty. Hasty sales did not yield quite the amounts originally hoped for, but still, each girl received sixteen thousand, eight hundred forty-two pounds, six shillings, and thruppence. The girls had been escorted to the uncle's home in Richmond, to clear out whatever possessions they wished to keep. Pattie was busily investing the money for the best possible return, and as Polly would have control of her fortune, he had indoctrinated her in the evils of touching capital.

Tavington had ridden in from a patrol late one afternoon, and seen Sally's bright head down a side street as she walked arm in arm with Pattie. Desperately tired, and in need of a bath, he rode back to his lodgings, ordered the servants to heat some water, and was just opening his own door, when he overhead Polly's voice in conversation. Curious as to who might be calling, and even a little jealous, he paused by the closed door, and then heard an unmistakably female voice answer. He smiled, satisfied. A lady caller. How nice for Polly.

An hour later, far cleaner, he decided to pay Polly his respects. He knocked, and was invited in. To his surprise, Polly's caller was still there, a pretty young woman in a lace cap and ruffled muslin gown. They made a charming sight, the young lady seated at the table by the window writing a note, while Polly stood looking over her shoulder, giving advice.

Polly looked up and smiled softly, "Good day to you, Colonel."

Her companion was startled, and at the sight of him gasped, and nearly jumped out of her chair. Polly, however, grasped the girl's shoulder, and pressed her back down. "No need to hurry, ma'am." She whispered for the girl's ears. "Rise slowly to your feet, and make your curtsey as he makes his bow."

More gracefully, the young woman rose, and she and Polly acknowledged him. As Tavington straightened from his bow, wondering what this new game was, he recognised Polly's companion. "Mrs. Martin."

It was hard to make out the girl's expression with the light behind her, but he heard the embarrassment in her voice. "Colonel, sir."

Polly's expression was perfectly intelligible, and it warned him to behave himself. "Colonel Tavington, how delightful to see you. Won't you be seated?"

A very strange quarter of an hour ensued. Polite small talk, given with the definite air of a lesson. He had always thought Dinah Poole a pretty girl, but she was far better dressed than he had ever seen her before; and while she said very little, she did not offend with any gaucheries. _The boy has taken my advice to heart,_ he concluded, _and she has thrown herself on Polly's mercy._

He asked, well-mannered as a parson's cat, "And was your trip to Richmond a success, Miss Featherstone?"

Polly smiled, glad of such a topic. "Very much so. Sally and I brought back a small wagonload of treasures. So many things from my childhood—some books with my father's name in them, my mother's sewing box and jewelry box, family pictures, and some good silver monogrammed with an "F."

Tavington smirked, "How very convenient."

She laughed. "Some other nice things as well: a great treasure of household linens, and even the first sampler I ever made!"

Dinah Martin had been gathering her courage for some time. In the pause following Polly's last words, she managed to say with some composure. "I have had such a delightful visit, Miss Featherstone, but now I must be on my way. I am very glad to have seen you too, Colonel. I hope your patrol was not disagreeable." She rose, and Tavington followed suit, to bid her farewell.

She hesitated, then gave a nice curtsey; and walking more slowly than was obviously her habit, departed.

Tavington waited until the sound of her footsteps on the stairs faded before snorting a laugh.

Polly came over to sit by him on the sofa, and reproved him with a mock slap to his arm. "Don't laugh. She's doing very well. Among people who have never known her and are not excessively refined, she would seem passably genteel."

"So she has come to you to learn to comport herself as a lady."

"If you laugh at that, I really shall be angry. I had never thought to be a schoolmistress, but my scholar is improving daily. She is practicing very diligently at improving her hand."

"Ah."

"And it is pleasant company for me."

Tavington smiled. "With that I can have no argument."

-----

Peace there would be, of a sort, and perhaps of short duration, but any peace was held to be better than none at all.

General Lord Cornwallis returned to Williamsburg in Mid-August. Tavington thought he looked more exhausted from the machinations of peace-making than he ever had on campaign. Cornwallis immediately called in his senior officers to brief them on the news.

"Gentlemen," he began. "A provisional agreement has been reached." There was a rushing murmur of comment and curiosity, but it quickly faded as the officers waited to hear what the future would hold for them.

While the final agreement would have to be approved in London, Cornwallis was sanguine that it would be ratified. Years of war had drained the nation's coffers and emboldened the opposition in Parliament. His own secret fear was that the King, well-meaning but pig-headed, would reject all their agreements and plunge them back into war. Cornwallis was convinced that given the current situation, the treaty was the best England could hope for. There was no guarantee that further warfare could put them in a more advantageous position.

Quietly and rationally, he explained the dispositions to his officers—sketching out the situation in the North, where the New Englanders had withdrawn into their rocky little territory like a turtle into its shell. The struggles of the rebel representatives to forge a government for the Republic of New England was not his business today. The Crown had its agents, learning the weaknesses and vulnerabilities of the faithless former colonies. Their time would come: but not now.

New York City and its environs would be a military district, under the direct supervision of a military governor. Its strategic worth made it too important to leave to the colonists themselves. New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania had recognised the King's sovereignty, "with provisions." Cornwallis did not bother to discuss that tangled issue today. He was happy to be back in Virginia and far from the problems that would have to be faced there, plagued as those places were with bloody militia warfare on both sides. Virginia, Delaware, and Maryland, related by blood and culture, had together forged a nation, called "The United Commonwealth of America." Baltimore was to be its capital.

He said a little more about "The Loyal Colonies," referring to the Carolinas and Georgia. Forgotten was the fact that they too had had representatives in the Continental Congress and had signed the Declaration of Independence. All seemed forgiven. Many Loyalists would be rewarded, and only the border of North Carolina and Virginia would require much military presence here in the South.

"And that brings us to our present situation," he continued gravely. "We are today in the capital of British Virginia, which, like New York City, is to be a military district." Aides unrolled a large map, which was carefully arranged on an easel. "As you see, we are maintaining control of a large parcel of southeast Virginia. It is, for the most part, south of the James River, though of course we are keeping the peninsula here between the James and York Rivers. We will have a post on the tip of the Gloucester peninsula. We, too, had to make concessions."

Tavington could see that they had. Richmond was indeed gone, but only that part north of the James River, which flowed through the town. _The part that encompassed the girls' properties. Sensible of Pattie to have sold out. No, wait. The grist mill was on the south side of the river. Oh, well. I daresay they didn't want it anyway._

Cornwallis was still speaking. "We shall make a formal withdrawal from Richmond on the 22nd. I shall be present at the ceremony. The forces of the 'United Commonwealth,' as they now call themselves, will be moving into the town." He saw Tavington leaning forward, looking at the map with knitted brow. "Yes," he said, "there are certain other changes. In exchange for Richmond, we obtained a redrawing of the map, giving a small triangle of land in the westernmost part of Virginia to British Kentucky. It was felt that clear possession of Cumberland Gap would be of great strategic value in the future. In the next few months, a planned settlement of the new Kentucky Colony will be arranged, the charter issued from the Crown, and the spring shall see it implemented. Some of us will find it a splendid new opportunity."

Cornwallis smiled. He did not share the news that he would almost certainly be the new Governor of Kentucky Colony, with immense land grants replacing those Ohio territories that had now been ceded to the Indians in perpetuity. He was very pleased about the exchange, feeling that it had been a great improvement. He had received communications from Judge Richard Henderson, who had bargained with the Indians for the land. Some consideration would be given the man, though he had far exceeded the legal limits of any private individual to treat with the native peoples on such a scale. Cornwallis was tremendously excited about the potential of the new colony, and had undertaken plans for a new city to be built on the Ohio River, that would command the river traffic and the territory around it. The current small settlements should not prove a problem. They could be easily absorbed into the new structure of the colony. The colony would be populated with veterans, both Loyalist and British, who would be pensioned off with land grants. These new, loyal colonists would be a bulwark against rebel expansion. Everything would be carefully planned from the very beginning. There would be civilisation and cultivation, commerce and even a college within a decade. It would be the crown of his life's work.

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I shall build a splendid home. And then, I shall send for my children.

----

The Lord General's good spirits extended to the arranging of a ball, to celebrate the peace. It was to be held on the British side of the James River on the night of the 22nd, after the withdrawal. The Commonwealth 'Separatists,' as the polite now called them, had also been invited. General Washington, the Marquis de Lafayette, Thomas Jefferson, James Monroe, James Madison were all invited; with some gentlemanly assurances, it was finally agreed that all would attend. The Virginian separatists, after all, were guardedly satisfied. They had obtained self-rule of a territory no smaller than many European states. They were free to follow their own destiny. Those whose dreams had been of wider scope, of all the colonies joining together in a new nation spanning the Atlantic seaboard, reluctantly put those dreams by. After all, Nova Scotia had never joined with them in the rebellion. At least New England, though profoundly different in culture and outlook, had also remained true to the dream of freedom, and would likely prove a useful ally and trading partner.

The day dawned, and the formal departure of the British troops from Richmond was carried off faultlessly. The British marched over the bridge spanning the James toward their own camp in what was now to be called Kingston. The Lord General's headquarters were properly festive, and the ballroom nearly exploded with the luminaries present.

The British muffled their laughter, as a new joke spread. There had been some difficulty decided what to call the citizens of the United Commonwealth. Apparently, they were having trouble deciding themselves. "American" was not specific enough. "Commonwealther" too cumbersome. Patrick Ferguson, keeping his face perfectly straight, suggested calling them "Round Heads," in reference to the old Commonwealth during the English Civil War. The name was in danger of sticking, and when General Washington was announced, and did indeed prove to have a rather, large, round head, it was all the livelier elements of the British side could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

It was certainly a great ball, and destined to be one of the most famous in history, given the significance of the agreement fulfilled that day. The air was full of political gossip, and Tavington heard tantalising snatches as he danced with Polly. She looked startlingly beautiful, in a gown of pearl satin and a petticoat with a rich floral embroidery. Her eye-catching jewels, she informed Tavington, had been her late, unlamented aunt's.

He smiled, thinking that the necklace, of cameos and pendant pearls, was fortunate to be shown off on so lovely a neck as Polly's. He went so far as to say, "I'm sure the jewels look better on you than they ever did on your aunt."

"That is a very pretty speech. I thank you."

Groups of men, here and there, were in heated discussion as they danced by.

"---There was no question about it! Slaves cannot be granted their freedom by the British in exchange for military service. It had to be stopped or every slave in Virginia would be running south!"

"—but Franklin's situation is unique. He is a world famous philosopher, and could be granted amnesty for his son's sake. After all, William Franklin is being reinstated as the Royal Governor of New Jersey—"

"---and it should be clear to the Separatists by now that the one thing Britain will not endure is for Boston and Baltimore to become French naval bases! Merchant vessels are one thing, but—"

Groups of women, here and there, were sharing their opinions more quietly, but with as much passion.

"---he has another family, you know, with one of his----"

"---she was nothing but a campfollower!"

"---Is it true that the married woman of New England are to have property rights?"

"---and there she is, bold as brass! Shady, very shady! I've heard that they were three to a bed—"

"—No! I can't bear it!---Oh, well, tell me more!"

Polly's pretty, dimpled smile was strained. Tavington threw a frosty stare at the old cat who was regaling her friends with gossip about the Featherstones. The dance ended, and supper was announced.

-----

Thomas and Dinah went in to supper behind the rest of the crowd. The junior officers in attendance were sitting at tables far from the grandeur of Lord Cornwallis and General Washington. They were just as glad to be a table full of British and Loyal American officers and their ladies. It was a great deal more pleasant than eating a meal while trying to be diplomatic. Thomas looked at Dinah with great satisfaction: she had made a beautiful dress of sea-green silk. It was not expensively trimmed, and her jewels were only her narrow gold wedding ring, and small gold earrings. Her only lace was a double ruffle around her neck. Nonetheless, Thomas thought her the prettiest girl there, and not ridiculous and pretentious like some of the affected, over-fine ladies sitting with the great men and tittering behind their fans.

He was proud of her. Her manner was more genteel now, and she had learned to speak softly and write elegantly. Even a lady like Aunt Charlotte would have to approve of Dinah. He was wondering what it would be like to go home and show her off to his family, when Sam Willett got his attention.

"Tom, stop dreaming! I said, did you hear about the Kentucky land grants?"

"What land grants?"

"Tom, you mutton-head! I heard Colonel Ferguson and Captain Monroe talking. There are plans afoot to settle Kentucky Colony with veterans, starting next year. The holdings are based on rank—and I heard," he dropped his voice secretively, "that lieutenants will be given a thousand acres each! Think of that! One thousand acres of land free and clear!"

Dinah gasped. Thomas shook his head, "That's a lot of land. Are you sure?"

"Sure as shooting sure! They have it all figured. A hundred for a private, two hundred for a corporal, up to five hundred for a sergeant. Then, a thousand for a lieutenant, two for a captain, three for a major, five for a colonel, and for a general," he grinned, "whatever he can fancy-talk for himself. I heard that Lord Cornwallis may be getting more than fifty thousand acres!"

Thomas tried to imagine it. A thousand acres! That was twice the size of Fresh Water! His imagination soared. He saw himself, master of all he surveyed, a pillared white house in the background, row upon row of fertile soil yielding crops of unexampled abundance. _Yes, Mr. Martin is one of our foremost citizens. He built the place with his own hands, and look at it now!_ Thomas saw barns full of stock, paddocks full of fine horses, himself prosperous, respected—

---And not in the army! Thomas gave his head a little shake. He had joined the army to get away from farms and farming, and here he was dreaming about them. Besides, if he were to take up farming again, he was planning on going back to Fresh Water. He looked at Dinah, who seemed wildly excited.

"I thought you said women had to work too hard on a farm," he said.

"But a thousand acres, Tom! That's like being a king! And I wouldn't have to do everything myself. We could hire some help, and then," she stopped, and then whispered in his ear, "Our little baby would have a home of his own, and wouldn't be living in lodgings and tents, even if they are pretty nice sometimes."

The guests were getting a little rowdy. The servers were having difficulty getting past one of the tables, where a group of artillery officers, both Loyal and rebel, were stopping anyone carrying wine, and were hoarding it at their table. Some of their friends at other tables complained, and the admonished officers started tossing bottles to them over the heads of alarmed guests sitting between them. One of their superiors was sent to calm the men down and words were exchanged. A group left, to take the discussion outside.

At length, stuffed with delicacies, they were called back to the ballroom to resume dancing. Dinah was starting to look tired, and Thomas decided there was no reason to stay much longer. He indulged her with a last reel. They were dancing to "Soldier's Joy," and Thomas was preparing to give hands across to the lady facing him, when he recognised her.

"Anne!"

It was Anne, prettily dressed, wearing his mother's star necklace, and almost too pregnant to have any business dancing. She stared at Thomas in astonishment, and the other dancers nearly trampled them. They hastily left the dance, and Dinah, seeing Thomas walking away, excused herself and left too.

Anne and Thomas stared at each other, feeling awkward . They were both very happy to see someone they knew from their home, but they also were aware of the other's political views. Thomas saw Dinah coming, and motioned to her eagerly.

"Dinah ! Here's someone you should meet! Anne, let me introduce my wife, Dinah Martin. Dinah, this is my brother Gabriel's wife, Anne."

Anne stared, "Your wife! Thomas, you're only sixteen!"

"Seventeen," he corrected her. "Anyway, we're married."

Anne mouth was still open, but she was assessing Dinah rapidly, her clothes, her face, her figure—and then she smiled coolly and curtseyed. "Pleased to meet you."

"I'm very happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Martin," Dinah murmured, terribly nervous. She managed a shy smile in her turn. Thomas had told her all about Gabriel and his Anne, and she was afraid unpleasant things might be said.

"It _is_ you."

Thomas turned, and met his brother's level gaze. Gabriel was handsomely dressed in Continental blue. He moved to Anne's side and took her arm.

"Gabriel," Anne said, looking at her husband with wide eyes. "Thomas is married. This," she said, waving a hand in Dinah's direction, "is his wife."

Gabriel's face broke into the kind of smile that Thomas remembered from boyhood. "You're married!" Gabriel turned to Dinah, and gave her a very polite bow. "I am honoured to make the acquaintance of my brother's wife, ma'am."

Dinah coloured, and made her curtsey, feeling better about Thomas' relatives. "Thank you kindly, sir."

Gabriel raised his brows and remarked to Thomas. "A little young, maybe."

"Colonel Tavington gave his permission," Thomas replied defensively.

Gabriel's mouth tightened. "And of course, we all know that Colonel Tavington is the ideal arbiter of proper human behaviour…"

Thomas flushed and stood straighter.

Gabriel stopped, recollecting himself. "I won't say anything about your Colonel, Thomas. I know you think he walks on water." He cast a quick, compassionate glance at the unhappy Dinah. "I don't mean to worry you, ma'am."

Dinah said softly, "Colonel Tavington has been very good to us."

Anne ignored her. "So when were you married, Thomas? Does your father know?"

"Well," declared a familiar voice, "I do now."

"Father!" Thomas and Gabriel exclaimed together.

Ben Martin, well-but-hastily dressed, beamed at his sons, and embraced each. His hair was escaping from its queue, and some of his buttons were undone. "Gabriel—Thomas—" he turned, and gave Anne a polite bow and smile. "Anne."

Thomas could not believe it. "How did you---I mean, it's like a miracle."

Martin smiled like a naughty boy. "Not at all. I knew Thomas was in Virginia. I knew British headquarters was in Williamsburg. So instead of going straight home to Charlestown, I broke my journey by taking a shorter voyage to Williamsburg in hopes of seeing you. I arrived and found out about the ball, and rode here as fast as I could. What's like a miracle is finding both my sons."

Gabriel was genuinely pleased. "And you were able to get an invitation to the ball, and—"

Martin lowered his voice confidentially. "Well, I wasn't actually invited. I just—sort of arrived and walked in. Anyway there's quite a fight going on outside and the guards are looking at that. Strange though: it looks like British and Continental artillery are fighting on the same side this time." He turned to Dinah, who was hiding behind Thomas.

"And you must be my newest daughter." He bowed, "I am very happy to meet you. I'm sure you are as good as you are pretty."

Dinah blushed and nearly wept with relief. "Thank you, sir." Wisely, she did not attempt to say more.

"Father," said Thomas, "this is Dinah. We were married three weeks ago."

Benjamin Martin was far from pleased, but knew it would be useless to show it. Young people would be silly and thoughtless, and marriage to a pretty, gentle young girl was not the worst thing Thomas could have been up to. She seemed nice enough, if very shy, and could not possibly be as opinionated and willful as Anne.

He looked again at Anne, and asked, "You are well? The baby—"

She smiled more frankly this time, showing all her many teeth. "Yes, I'm very well, and the baby is too." She saw Dinah's eager curiosity, and volunteered, "In December. We're to have a Christmas baby."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Dinah congratulated her.

Some other guests had noticed Ben Martin, and the whispers began. "Thomas/Gabriel Martin's father. Yes—_That_ Benjamin Martin. Recaptured the ship from the French, and killed nearly the entire crew……"

Thomas told his father, "You've been spoken of everywhere! That was some fighting, taking over the ship like that!"

Gabriel looked gravely at his father, "Everywhere is right. I read about it too. You were right to defend yourself. No one can say otherwise."

His father gave him an understanding nod, and led his sons and his sons' wives out of the ballroom. One of the sitting rooms was nearly empty. He was already considering what to do with the few days he had allotted to this side trip, before taking ship for Charlestown. He must buy a good wedding present for Thomas and ----Dinah! He would find a nice piece of jewelry for the girl, since he had given the star pendant to Anne. Then he would get them—what?—something good, something lasting, something portable. Some books? A pair of silver candlesticks? He would think it over. Gabriel, too, should have some substantial token of his family's love.

In the meantime, he would find out his sons' plans. Gabriel, he knew, would probably be remaining in the Commonwealth, but Thomas? Perhaps he would come home. He could at least suggest it.

-----

Tavington was looking for Polly. He had been caught by O'Hara and Hamilton, both interested in knowing his views about the settlement of the Kentucky Colony. The grants were tempting for many of the officers, but there would also be a need to keep the standing army fully staffed. Tavington was definite that he was not going to Kentucky himself. Despite Elizabeth's possible holdings there, he doubted she would ever leave Arcadia for the frontier. The grant would be useful someday, no doubt, and would become more valuable as the colony was settled up and land prices rose.

He finally escaped the masculine gossip of politics, promotion, and land fever, and returned to the ball room. He eyes swept the room, and found many others, but not the woman he wanted. There was Ferguson, spry, dapper, and merry, with his lovely bride. He hoped Pattie would not be joining the great land rush westward. He still had hopes of him as a neighbor: there were even some good arguments for it. Pattie would want to be nearer civilisation when it came time to send off the book he was planning for publication. He would want to have access to a seaport if he were ever to visit home again, which he was still talking about. Elizabeth had written, listing some very good estates within a day of Arcadia. And of course, there was no need for Pattie to buy a working plantation. He and Sally could live very well from her income and his half-pay and other resources. They could purchase a fine house in Charlestown, and Pattie would be a leading figure in the town's social and intellectual life.

He was not sure that Sally and Elizabeth would have much in common. Elizabeth would appreciate Sally's beauty and zest for life, and would respect her obvious devotion to her husband. Sally would respect Elizabeth's refinement and good sense, her love for her family. It was a start.

But where was Polly? He wanted to dance again with one of the prettiest women in the room.

Wilkins, towering over a group of officers, smiled at him across the room. Tavington responded politely. There was another problem. Wilkins was really not a bad fellow, and had certainly served loyally, but Tavington was not ready to have him underfoot constantly. Undoubtedly he would be staying at Arcadia for awhile until he could rebuild his own home. How long would that take? Still, Tavington could pursue his old plan of marrying Wilkins off to Charlotte Montgomery. That would remove both Wilkins and the plague of Montgomerys from daily intercourse.

Tavington passed by a group of ladies, evidently not of the Loyal sort, for they eyed him up and down in a hostile, furtive way. He resisted the urge to say "boo!" to them. Where was Polly?

He caught a glimpse of chestnut brown hair and pearl satin. Yes! She was sitting now, chatting with someone. There was an officer on either side of her, and another hanging about leaning from behind her chair. He recognised Allaire, from Ferguson's American Volunteers, and Duncan Monroe and Alan Cameron from the British Legion. No one could accuse her of being flirtatious. She looked tired, and perhaps had had enough of hearing gossip about herself for one night. Tavington headed in her direction, but before he could reach her, Monroe was leading her to the dance. Tavington leaned against the wall, watching her, feeling jealous and aggrieved.

They made an attractive couple. Monroe was nearly as tall as Wilkins. Tavington recalled that Monroe was a Virginian, like Polly. He had rebel cousins here tonight, and they had snubbed him when their paths had crossed. Monroe had lost his home, and situated where it was, far to the north, there was no hope that he would ever regain it. Probably he would be one of the most eager to apply for one the Kentucky grants.

Restlessly, he noted that they seemed to be having a good time. Polly was smiling now, and they were talking together with some animation. Tavington began to grow angry. Ordinarily he liked Monroe, but his behaviour tonight was beyond all bounds! How dare he engross Polly with his idle chatter!

He was so irritated, that when a friendly voice demanded his attention, he turned on the speaker rather angrily. Pattie looked back at him, brows raised in puzzlement.

"Sorry," muttered Tavington, his blood still pumping. "I'm rather out of sorts."

"Polly seems to think well of yon Monroe."

"They're just dancing, Pattie."

"Oh, aye, very true. He's come calling, three—maybe four times. And those are the ones I know about." Pattie sighed. "She must find her own way. We canna be unfair—that is, Sally and I—and expect her be the spinster sister at our beck and call."

"No," agreed Tavington, sighing himself. "I can see that. And Monroe is not a bad sort. She could do better, though."

"Well," Pattie pointed out delicately, "that's for Polly to decide."

Sally appeared just then, giving a brilliant, fearless smile to a pair of disapproving hens. "Polly looks lovely, doesn't she?"

"Yes," Tavington answered. "We were just talking about all the attention she's been receiving. Pattie says Captain Monroe has been calling."

Sally patted his arm, and spoke frankly. "He's always fancied her, even before we became rich and suddenly respectable. I noticed it months ago--as far back as King's Mountain. He even tried to speak to her a few times, but she discouraged him pretty thoroughly. Since the wedding, though, he's been back."

Pattie observed mildly to his wife, "Will thinks she could do better."

Sally cast Tavington a sideways glance, that told him she understood him too well. She said pointedly, "Colonel Tavington has been a good friend to Polly. I'm sure he wants what's best for her. We all do."

__

_They think I'm in love with Polly! _Tavington realised. His next, uncomfortable thought was: _Am I? _Tavington felt himself flush, and knew he had been acting the dog in the manger. He could offer Polly nothing but a clandestine romance. She deserved more.

Feeling confused and ashamed, he excused himself, and decided to go outside and clear his head. There had been some sort of brawl by the entrance, and some of the male guests were still discussing it excitedly.

He must go home. He must stop mooning over Polly. He must see Elizabeth right away. His thoughts came in rapid succession. They had peace enough that he could request leave and spend a month or two in South Carolina. He would take ship for Charlestown, and reach Arcadia in less than ten days. Once at Arcadia, he would have time to think for awhile, and plan his future wisely. He had nearly forgotten Elizabeth's face. And Julia, too! How glad they would be to see him. He could be home for his child's birth.

He stood under the clear night sky, admiring the stars. Arcadia. It was just what he needed.

-----

****

**Notes:** No story points up the sad consequences of civil war more than the situation in Benjamin Franklin's family. The distinguished scientist was, of course, a guiding light of the Revolution. His son William, the governor of New Jersey, was a Loyalist and fled to England during the war. Thus, the grandson was forced to choose between his father and his beloved grandfather. Ultimately, due to geographical constraints, he was permanently separated from his father, who settled in England in our timeline.

George Washington's mother is often described as a Tory (Loyalist), but I am not sure she really was. She was a horrible old psycho who did whatever it took to humiliate her son. I won't get into the anecdotes of the things she said and did.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: As I grow closer to the end of the story, I wish to express my appreciation for your encouragement and support.

SlytherinDragoon: Thanks for the suggestion! I've thought long and hard about the Featherstones. It's a rough patch in many ways for them, but Polly is a very resilient young woman.Yes, I thought Dinah should meet the Martins. I thought it over for a while, and saw no logical reason it would be impossible for them to meet at the peace festivities. In fact, I decided that Ben, knowing it could be years—maybe never—before he has the chance to travel again, would strongly consider breaking his journey in the hopes of seeing Thomas; especially since he would know that the British were holding a comparatively small area in Virginia. I'm not sure yet if Thomas and Dinah will actually go to SC.

Pigeonsfromhell: Thanks! I'm trying to show how being far apart for a long time can affect even a happy couple. Tavington's been with the army and focused on the events around him so long that he's stopped thinking about Elizabeth and Arcadia as often. Absence doesn't always make the heart grow fonder. And remember what I said: people write fanfiction in all sorts of ways for all sorts of reasons!

Zubeneschamali: Thanks for your insight! As you see, I found a way for Dinah to get some polish. And money didn't make Polly's problems go away, certainly, but it changed what kind of problems she had! By the way, David McKay is quite different in this story. The comparative success of British arms kept him from become disillusioned and disloyal. He's off to Kentucky next year, but in a far better frame of mind (though without Amelia, obviously). There's no way to write a decisive British victory after 1778, or even after 1776. The situation should never have come to war. The drivers were all asleep at the wheel.

Ladymarytavington: Thanks! Yes, complications arose, but I tried to make Thomas deal with them in a realistic way! He is a nice boy, after all.

LCWA: Thanks! Oh, how I have beaten my brains out trying to come up with alternative outcomes. It's hard work, but very interesting. New England is a rather cohesive unit, and I could see them sticking together fairly effectively. One of the most interesting things about the Revolution is that resistance to the British came first and strongest in the oldest colonies: Virginia and Massachusetts. Loyalists typically were either colonial officials, members of the Anglican Church (Episcopalians), or recent-to-second generation immigrants. All of these people had strong ties to Great Britain. In the colonies with strong Loyalist movements, you have a high proportion of recent immigrants to the total population.

Nomorebraces: Thanks! I'm glad you like the outcomes for Thomas and Polly. Yes, money helps. Of course, in the universe of my original story, _Et In_ _Arcadia Ego_, Polly also had the inheritance, but since she never returned to Virginia, she never knew about it, and never received it. And I really didn't have the heart to dump Dinah. I couldn't imagine a sweet-natured boy like Thomas dumping her, either.

Wolfgal: Thanks! I'm kind of sad it's winding down, too.

Carolina Girl: Thank you for your lengthy review. You've hit on all the main threads I'm trying to tie together. It's been interesting, trying to write alternate history. I have to research, and then extrapolate different outcomes from the things that actually happened. As to Dinah—how much the family will ever really know about her is doubtful. Ben of course will ask a lot of questions when he gets Thomas alone. I may not show that particular conversation, but I will show the spin that Thomas put on her background. And no, Thomas and Dinah will not tell them about the baby right now. After the ball, obviously, Thomas and Dinah will not see Gabriel and Anne again, so Anne will not be a player in their family situation. (thank goodness!) Tavington's objections to Dinah were very class-related. Even if she had been a perfectly virtuous girl, Tavington would have thought her unsuitable to be the wife of an officer and a gentleman. And as to Tavington and the army: I've made him realise that he needs to get away and think things over before making a life-changing decision.

Next chapter: **Destiny's Threads Untangled –**Will they all live happily ever after?


	14. Destiny's Threads Untangled: Tavington

Disclaimer: This is _fanfiction,_ for Heaven's sake.

****

Chapter 14: Destiny's Threads Untangled--Tavington

The Lord General was in a mood to be generous. Tavington was granted two months' leave, and he found passage to Charlestown, packed, and bade farewell to his friends within the space of two days. Pattie thought Tavington had chosen an opportune time, and wished him godspeed. Sally gave him a friendly, if somewhat relieved farewell. Polly seemed to understand his sudden departure; and though she said goodbye with perfect composure, she ran to the window a few minutes later, to see him striding swiftly away in the direction of the docks.

Once aboard, Tavington breathed a sigh, and felt in himself that he had done the right thing. He would have days to think over his situation without anyone else's advice.

He was not the only passenger, of course. As he leaned on the rail near the bow of the ship, someone spoke to him.

"You know, pushing on the rail won't make the ship go any faster. I've tried it myself."

Tavington turned and recognised the speaker.

"Captain Martin. How do you do, sir?" He bowed, and Martin responded in kind.

"I'm well, Colonel Tavington. I confess I am surprised to see you here."

"I have been granted leave, and am on my way to visit my wife."

Martin thought a moment, and remembered.

"Yes, Thomas told me that you married the oldest Wilde girl. I was very good friends with her father before the war."

"Elizabeth told me that you had visited Arcadia."

Martin smiled, thinking about it. "Yes, I was there in '73. John Wilde was a remarkable man. I've always thought his death in the war was a terrible waste."

"He wanted to serve the King."

"I think the King is best served according to one's talents. He was a great naturalist, a great painter, and not the stuff of soldiers. You must understand that I mean no disrespect at all to him when I say that."

Tavington shrugged. "I understand you. The war was a disaster in many ways. With the peace, the rebuilding can begin."

Martin nodded, and they were silent for a while, looking out to sea.

Tavington said, "I heard about your adventures on the _Theodosia_. That was an impressive feat."

Martin laughed. "And in the end, we were saved by a twelve-year-old boy. Without him, it would have all been for nothing."

Tavington laughed too. Then he remarked, "I understand that Judge DeLancey was there as well. I met him Charlestown last year, and I must say that he did not strike me as a fighter."

"He rose to the challenge when he had to. We've become good friends since. He sailed home directly to Charlestown. I'll be visiting him there."

"Please convey my respects."

"I will." Martin paused, and then decided to raise a matter that troubled him. "Colonel Tavington, you gave Thomas permission to marry. I was surprised to find myself introduced to his wife, a girl completely unknown to me."

Tavington suppressed his irritation. It was not surprising that the father would mention it, after all. "Your son was absolutely determined on marriage. Had I refused permission, it was quite likely that he would have resigned his commission. He is a good officer and I did not wish to lose his services."

"I can see the problem. The girl is very pretty and good-natured, but I know nothing about her. Thomas told me she was an orphan, and very poor. He never wrote me anything about her. The only girl he ever mentioned in his letters was your wife's sister, Miss Amelia. I have to admit that's the sort of marriage that would have pleased me more."

__

I daresay it would have, Tavington thought sourly. He decided that nothing would be gained by gossiping like an old woman. He said only, "I know little of her myself, other than that she is, as you say, very pretty. She seems quite devoted to your son, and I sincerely wish them happy. As to Amelia, she and your son have not seen each other in nine months. For the very young, that's an eternity." Personally, he thought that Amelia, silly and romantic as she was at sixteen, was also a pure, educated, and accomplished young lady; and the fact that Thomas could be satisfied with a Dinah Poole proved that he was not good enough for one of Tavington's Wilde girls. But perhaps he was partial.

They were silent again, but not uncomfortably so. Ben Martin was thinking over the night of the ball, his meeting with his sons and their wives, the painful, final parting with Gabriel. He had returned to Williamsburg and visited some shops. He had decided in the end that silver was always a good gift: portable, unbreakable, and useful. He had bought a handsome pair of candlesticks for each of his sons. He sent Gabriel's to him, and delivered Thomas' in person. In a goldsmith's shop he had found a little gold cross set with pearls on a fine gold chain. It was not a family heirloom, but it was a suitable present for young Dinah. The shy girl had been overwhelmed and grateful. He had bought similar necklaces for Margaret and Susan. He had already bought presents to take home to his children, but the necklaces would be just the thing for their birthdays.

Stowed away in the hold was the small pianoforte he had found in the music shop of an old German in New York. The fellow knew his business, and when Martin had described his daughters' efforts, seemed to understand how much they would know, and had included some easy music with the instrument.

The September weather was mild, and the sea as smooth as glass. Their ship bore them swiftly towards Charlestown harbour. They dined with the ship's officers and traded tall tales of adventure. Tavington had rarely enjoyed a voyage more. Of the hostile French, lurking beyond the horizon, there was no sign.

The last night of the voyage, Martin extended an invitation to Tavington.

"Why don't you stay with my family in Charlestown?"

"My dear Captain Martin, that is very kind; but I will only be staying a night before I head north to Arcadia, and I do not wish to intrude on your homecoming."

Martin shrugged. "No intrusion. You're my son's commander. That makes you some sort of relation."

"I'd not thought of it that way," laughed Tavington. "I could not possibly—"

"Please," Martin urged, "knowing of it would make Thomas so happy." He then admitted, "It's not really my house anyway, but my sister-in-law's. She loves company, and she'll think I'm a rude, uncivilised boor if I don't bring you along with me."

Tavington was tempted. It sounded far pleasanter than a strange inn. "If you're sure it would be no imposition--"

Martin grinned. "So it's settled."

-----

Charlotte Selton, Captain Martin's sister-in-law, and young Martin's aunt, was a charming, elegant woman, with a charming, elegant house. She was a widow of some years' standing. Tavington wondered how she had evaded the suitors who must be thronging after her wealth and attractive person. She was, it seemed, the sister of Captain Martin's deceased wife, and very like her in appearance. It explained the pretty, golden-haired daughters, who kissed their father with tearful joy. The three boys, on the other hand, were all dark-haired like Martin. The second of the boys resembled Lieutenant Martin strongly, and Tavington felt a certain affinity with the little fellow because of it.

The family greeted him a most friendly, open-hearted way. Tavington appreciated their courtesy, and did his best to be unobtrusive whilst Martin showered his family with presents from his journey to New York and Virginia. He told them he had bought a little pianoforte in New York, and the girls were thrilled. Eagerly, they ran to their aunt's fine instrument to display their new accomplishment. Tavington thought their performances unimpressive, but their own family regarded them as musical prodigies; and that was as it should be. And, he was told, they had only begun learning last spring, so there was certainly hope of improvement.

Once applied to, his hostess was able to answer the question that had been foremost in his mind since arriving in Charlestown: was Amelia still with the DeLancey's?

"No, Colonel, Miss Wilde left Charlestown nearly two months ago. She felt she needed to be with Mrs. Tavington. She told us her sisters were missing her, so Mrs DeLancey found some respectable acquaintances to chaperone her home to Arcadia. The ladies would have gone themselves, but they were much too worried about the judge to leave town just then."

"Of course." He was pleased. Not just because Amelia was home, keeping her sister company; but because he would be able to travel far faster alone.

He had a bath, and rested until dinnertime. He had further reason to be pleased with his hostess then, for the dinner was excellent, lavish, and Southern: far better than anything he could have hoped for at an inn. The famous Carolina gold rice had never been so wonderful. He was rather pleased to learn that the genteel Mrs. Selton owned a plantation between Martin's Fresh Water and Arcadia that could not be much more than thirty miles from his home. Mrs Selton and Captain Martin were also full of good advice as to where to break his journey—which inns were best, which roads were kept up. He would pay a brief call on Colonel Balfour at garrison headquarters in the morning, and then be off.

He joined Martin in a glass of port before retiring, and looked out the window at Charlestown settling down for the night. _In years to come, this will be a familiar sight. This is our city, where we shall go for society and culture. Our friends, and our children's schools will all be here._

"It's a beautiful town," he remarked.

"Yes," agreed Martin. "One of the best things about traveling is learning to see one's home with fresh eyes. It _is_ beautiful. It's too bad you're not staying longer. I expect we'll have the DeLanceys over tomorrow, and you could meet Stephen DeLancey again."

"I'll have to forego the pleasure for now," Tavington said lightly, still not sure that he would ever get on with the man, "but I hope to renew my acquaintance in the future. Right now, all I can think about is getting home to my wife."

-----

It was still hot in September, and not a breath of afternoon wind stirred the cedars, as Tavington rode up the now beloved and familiar road to the pillared mansion. The small figures on the veranda uttered high pitched squeals, and dashed into the house. He had reached the carriage sweep, when both Julia and Amelia came running out the door, accompanied, he could see, by the little Montgomery girls and their big brother George.

By the time he had dismounted and tossed his reins to a waiting groom, a receiving line of children had formed by the door. They had changed in the months of his absence. All of them seemed taller. Julia was as leggy as a young colt, and Amelia was a blooming young lady, behaving with a maturity that surprised him.

They had evidently decided among themselves to greet him more or less in order of age, rather than mobbing him. Amelia embraced him gently, smelling deliciously of orange-flower water, and giving him a very affectionate kiss. "My dear brother. We are so happy to see you!"

Julia threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him fiercely. "We've been waiting and waiting! Now we'll never let you go!"

George, grinning from ear to ear, stood up straight and shook his hand like a man. The little girls insisted upon kissing him, and he permitted it. Charlotte's two youngest were not in evidence.

Julia told him, "Frank and Caroline are having their naps. So is Cousin Charlotte, and so is Lilabet."

A quiet young woman with large, clear grey eyes, dressed in black, came out of the house and called the little girls to order.

Amelia took Tavington by the hand and introduced him. "Colonel, this is Miss Temple, the children's governess. She has been such a help to us all."

He bowed politely, "Miss Temple, my wife has already sung your praises in her letters." He had not missed Amelia's meaning. Plainly, she no longer considered herself a child, and Miss Temple was not _her_ governess.

With a curtsey, the governess replied, "A pleasure to meet you at last, Colonel Tavington."

He cocked his head at her accent, and smiled. "You are English!"

"Yes, sir, from Wiltshire." She was well over thirty, he guessed, and rather plain. But she had an intelligent countenance, and he was disposed to like anyone who had helped Elizabeth so much in the last year.

Jane and Mary, hand in hand, shrieked, "We'll go get Cousin Lizzie!"

Amelia restrained them. "No, you will not." She told Tavington, "She's sleeping under the willow by the rose garden. It's cooler there. Julia can show you the place, and then," she continued, exchanging a look of understanding with her sister, "you can wake her yourself."

Julia led him through the echoing hall from the wide front door, with its fanlight dispersing a warm pattern of sunshine on the oak floor, straight through to the door that let out into the flower garden.

Tavington said, "Miss Temple seems very nice."

"I suppose," agreed Julia. "Lilabet likes her a lot. She and Melly and Lilabet talk about books and music all day long. Once they get started they never stop. It's nice for them." She showed him where her sister was sleeping, and then withdrew reluctantly, giving his hand a last squeeze. "Don't forget that you promised you'd go riding with George and me and teach us how to fight with swords."

He pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. "I hadn't forgotten."

He stepped out into the dappled light, shaded by the dogwoods framing the back door. Elizabeth was curled up in a low-slung hammock, and covered lightly by a flowered shawl. One hand was flung up by her head, the other curved protectively over her swollen belly. The maid Dolly was sitting on a three-legged stool, sewing quietly. She started up at the sight of Tavington, but he silenced her with a gesture, and waved her away. Sitting down by his wife, he truly relaxed for the first time in months, and studied Elizabeth for some time. She was as pale as ever, perhaps even more so; for her lips had lost their rosy colour, and the shadows around her eyes contrasted starkly with her fair complexion. Her dark hair, unbound, flowed around her, trailing off the hammock nearly to the ground.

The air was still, and heat shimmered up from the gravel by the rose bed. A bee came buzzing and paused, hovering, near Elizabeth's nose. Tavington batted at it, and Elizabeth's brow contracted for a moment, feeling the sudden breath of air in her sleep. He watched to see if she would wake, but she only shifted a little, made a soft little sigh, and remained sleeping.

Whimsically, he decided_, Perhaps this will serve for mere Colonels as well as princes,_ and leaned over for a kiss. He paused, enjoying the sweet rose-scent of her hair and all the memories it brought back in a rush. Then he pressed his mouth softly to her pale lips. Her eyes opened suddenly in surprise, black pupils dilated with only a thin rim of dark brown iris ringing them. She mewed in protest, and then recognising him in an instant, kissed him back. Slowly, her arms slid around him, and one hand stroked his back lazily.

When they finally broke the kiss, he smiled, brushing his lips against her ear, and whispered, "I'm home."

She smiled in return. "I noticed."

-----

There had been changes. They went upstairs together to organise Tavington's belongings, and he discovered that Elizabeth no longer slept in the room she had occupied since girlhood.

"My dearest, when I knew Charlotte and children were coming, I decided to move into Mamma's room. It's larger, and Papa's room adjoins. It seemed best to claim the rooms so you would be provided for when you came home."'

Tavington assumed a wounded air. "You are banishing me to your father's room?"

She laughed softly. "It's not very big, but I think you'll like having it as a dressing room, at least. And in the days to come, you'll thank me when you have a place to lay your head far away from me and the commotion of the little one's arrival."

"Days?" It seemed incredible. He was going to be a father. What if he were as big a fool as his own had been?

"Any day now, " Elizabeth assured him. She winced, and he laid a hand on her belly.

"Is it moving?"

"Wait." Sure enough, he nearly snatched his hand back at a sudden thump and wriggle. He could almost see the movement.

"Is it painful?"

"Only now and then, when he kicks back toward my spine. That's not very pleasant. I'll speak to him about it in a few years when he can be scolded properly."

"You make a joke of it, but are you all right? You seem very tired."

She gave him a dry smile. "I am. Only stay here a week or two, and you'll see why."

The room was large and airy, and Tavington noticed that Elizabeth had decorated it with her own curtains and coverlet. He opened the door that let into a small chamber adjoining. There was a long and narrow bed, an Aubusson carpet, and some good furniture. A window looked down toward the peach orchard. His things had been brought up and were neatly arranged about the room. There were several framed paintings by Elizabeth's father. He stopped briefly in front of an elegant heron, and promised himself a better look later. Elizabeth was right, of course. There would be times when he would be glad of this little sanctuary. He went back into the larger bedchamber and gave his wife another kiss. The maid brought up hot water, and Elizabeth lay on the bed resting, while Tavington stripped down for a wash.

In the mirror, he could see her, smiling tiredly, as she watched him scrub the road grime off.

"You are smiling. Do you find me diverting?"

"Entirely. You are so very beautiful."

He snorted, half in embarrassment. "Nonsensical girl." He finished his scrubbing, and approached the bed, unusually reticent after so many months, but curious to see how welcome Elizabeth would make him in her current condition. With some care, and some inventiveness, very welcome indeed, as it happened.

----

Dinner was the chaos he had predicted. Not that the children were particularly ill-behaved: there were simply so _many_ of them. Elizabeth, enthroned at the far end of the table, with Amelia and Miss Temple, seemed very far away. He was seated in equal majesty, with timid Charlotte Montgomery to his left and Julia to his right. In between the ladies stretched the mob of children: George, Jane, Mary, and Sophie. He thought the little girls much too young to come down to dinner, but at least three-year old Frank , and Caroline, not yet two, were kept in the nursery.

Charlotte Montgomery, still dressed in mourning for her late husband, had greeted him gladly enough. She had grown thinner, but it had not spoiled her looks: she was as blonde and doll-like as ever. George was frankly thrilled at Tavington's arrival. He said so plainly at the table.

"I was just about drowned in a sea of women. I'm so glad you've come, Colonel. Now maybe we can even the odds a little."

The three little girls were sent off to bed immediately after dinner. The handsome front parlour, now completely refurbished, was elegant but homelike, and Amelia and Julia played duets on the pianoforte for him, when they were not pressing him for tales of his adventures. The talk turned to books: more exactly, Amelia's impressive reading list given to her by Stephen deLancey, and her progress with it. It was heavy with classics, though of course in translation. Amelia's current study was Thucydides, and she ran to get the book.

"I have a new favourite quotation," she confided eagerly to Tavington. "I want you to hear it. It seems so timely." Julia, seated on a footstool by his knee, sighed heavily. Elizabeth, beside Tavington on the sofa, squeezed his hand and smiled.

While Amelia was in the library, Elizabeth reproved Julia quietly. "Don't roll your eyes, or sigh when Amelia is showing interest in a book. It's not at all nice. It's very laudable for her to wish to improve her mind with such diligent reading. " She leaned her head on Tavington's shoulder. "No more lecturing. I am glad that you are home, my dearest, and perhaps you can lure her out of doors for some exercise for her body as well."

Julia bounced on the footstool. "Hunting! We'll ride all over the county! We could go tomorrow!"

Tavington was amused at her enthusiasm. "We can go riding tomorrow, certainly. It takes a little longer to plan a proper hunt." When Julia scowled, he added. "You shall assist me."

Amelia came back with her book, and sat in her favourite small armchair. She read:

__

'So revolutions broke out in city after city; and in places where the revolutions occurred later, the knowledge of what had happened previously in other places caused still new extravagances of revolutionary zeal, expressed by an elaboration in the methods of seizing power and by unheard-of atrocities in revenge. T o fit in with the change of events, words, too, had to change their usual meanings. What used to be described as a thoughtless act of aggression was now regarded as the courage one would expect to find in a party member; to think of the future and wait was merely another way of saying one was a coward; any idea of moderation was just an attempt to disguise one's unmanly character; ability to understand a question from all sides meant that one was totally unfitted for action. Fanatical enthusiasm was the mark of a real man, and to plot against an enemy behind his back was perfectly legitimate self-defense. Anyone who held violent opinions could always be trusted, and anyone who objected to them became a suspect…..In short, it was equally praise-worthy to get one's blow in first against someone who was going to do wrong, and to denounce someone who had no intention of doing any wrong at all….Society had become divided into two ideologically hostile camps, and each side viewed the other with suspicion.'

Amelia stopped, and turned red. "You must think me the most appalling blue-stocking."

"No!" Tavington assured her. "I'm smiling because I remember reading Thucydides years ago, and not really understanding it at the time. You're right. It is apropos."

George was listening with some interest. "Is there fighting in that book?"

"Oh, yes," Amelia said, "It's all about the war between the Athenians and Spartans. They were all Greeks, but they had different ideas about the right kind of government."

"I guess people don't change much," the boy sighed.

"They don't," Tavington snorted. "All the more reason to see them clearly."

Miss Temple asked to see the book, and she sat down on the other side of Elizabeth, as the women looked at the rest of the passage, talking volubly. All but Charlotte Montgomery, quietly embroidering some handkerchiefs.

Tavington could understand George's earlier remark. He seemed to be drowned in a sea of women himself. It was not unpleasant, but after a life spent largely among men in the army, it was very odd. He felt rather guilty, thinking of this clan of women and children, left unprotected by all their male relations. Elizabeth's Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva had handled the family fairly well: but she had been neither an expectant mother, nor the proprietor of a large and demanding plantation. If for nothing else, Arcadia needed him here to be its _paterfamilias, _the father of this large, extended family 

-----

"Touché," roared Julia, wooden sword in hand. "Touché, touché, touché! You're dead, George; fall down!"

George appealed to Tavington's arbitration. "Is it fair for her to chop at my toes like that? I didn't think it was fair."

"Low blow, Julia," pronounced Tavington. "And having one's toes chopped off would be painful, I daresay, but hardly fatal."

"Unless you died slowly of mortification," Julia ghoulishly suggested. "Rotting slowly from the toes up."

The young ladies witnessing the duel were properly horrified at the idea.

Jane declared, "I would nurse you, Georgie, if your toes rotted. I would wipe your fevered brow and hold your hand as your soul spread its wings toward Heaven."

Sophie, finding it all too frightening, began to sob. "Georgie isn't really going to die, is he?"

"Hush, silly," said Mary, hoping for more swordplay. "You can't kill anybody with a wooden sword."

"But you can put their eyes out," Jane observed. "Cousin Lizzie says so."

"Cousin Elizabeth," Tavington corrected the girl automatically. He still had not given up hope of putting a stop to the hated name. There was time for a little more fencing practice for George and Julia. "_En garde,_ both of you. Keep your swords up."

He had slipped more comfortably into his necessary role as the days passed. The children underfoot bothered him less, as he became accustomed to them, and they to him. That George looked up to him, wished to emulate him, and took him as his pattern was all too clear, nor was it particularly surprising. That Jane, Mary, and Sophie should sometimes seem afraid of him, and at other times positively clinging in their desire to please, worried him more.

Passing the nursery, and out in the garden, occasionally he had come across little Frank and Caroline, and was surprised at how readily they took to him. Nervously, he realised that they appeared to _want_ his attention. Frank would trot up to him, showing him his wooden horse, or offering him a share of his grubby bread and butter held in both sturdy little hands. _They wouldn't remember their own father. I'm the only man about the house they've ever known. _Little Caroline would smile, as timidly as her mother; and once, sitting at his ease in the garden, he had been surprised by the feel of a soft little kiss pressed onto his hand. He opened his eyes to see Caroline, blue eyes huge, gazing at him with what appeared to be hopeful admiration. There was nothing for it, but to pick up the toddler and kiss her round, dimpled face as her father should have done, had he lived.

Earlier in the year, he had not been pleased to know that Elizabeth felt it incumbent upon her to provide a home for her relations. He still thought optimistically of his plan to match Charlotte with James Wilkins and send the lot of them off to Wilkins' estate. It was an amusing idea; but he was forced to acknowledge that Wilkins was not here and the children were. He knew himself a hard man, and had done many things that some might shudder at; but he was repelled by the thought of proving as mean-spirited and illiberal as his own uncle. The Montgomery children should not be made to feel unwanted and a burden, simply because they had lost their father in the King's service. Nor did he like to think of himself as the sort of man who would cause the children to live in fear, imagining that displeasing him could be punished by losing the roof over their heads. Whether or not the situation was ideal, he was as close a thing to a father as the children had, and the Montgomerys were no less his responsibility than Amelia or Julia.

-----

Elizabeth woke him in the middle of the night, about a week later. He summoned Phoebe, the housekeeper, who had some experience as a midwife. The commotion roused the entire household, and there was much bustling about, as Tavington dressed hastily, and took himself off. The older women servants, and then Charlotte Montgomery, pleased to be consulted about the one thing she did fairly well, all converged on Elizabeth's room, and shut out the rest of the world. Miss Temple, invaluable woman, rounded up the clamouring children and sent them right back to their beds. Amelia, too, was persuaded that there was nothing she could do, and that it was useless to sit up waiting for hours.

Tavington could not face trying to sleep in the small adjoining room, hearing Elizabeth's muffled cries of pain. He fled downstairs to the library, and stretched out on the sofa there, thinking appalling things.

__

What if she should die? Women died all the time in childbirth. What would become of Arcadia, the sisters who loved her and regarded her as a mother, the relations and servants who depended upon her? What would become of Tavington himself? _How can men do this to the women they love?_

He got up and poured himself a stiff brandy. Unquestionably, if she died, he would want to return to the army and try to forget his grief. But that would be unconscionable: he would be needed here.

He must find work to do. He went to the desk and began going over the accounts books Elizabeth had showed him. She had introduced him to the foreman and most of the other hired men. He ran his hand over his face, feeling the stubble._ And I must hire a valet. I should have taken the time in Charlestown or Williamsburg._

Dawn was showing in pale streaks on the eastern horizon. He went over to the window and watched the sunrise. There was a sound at the doorway, and Julia was skulking there, looking distraught.

"Good morning, my dear girl," Tavington greeted her. "It's a little early for you to be up."

She ran over to him, and held him tight. He pulled her close and the feel of her small bones was touching. "I'm so worried. Lilabet's going to be all right, isn't she?"

Tavington lied, smiling. "I'm sure she will be. She's very strong, and very good at everything she does."

Julia stepped back, wiping her eyes. "Maybe her having a baby isn't such a good idea. I know grownups want babies and all, but it's not very safe."

He drew her over to the sofa and sat with his arm around her. "It's very hard to wait, but think about how nice it will be to have a niece or nephew of your own. You'll be Aunt Julia. Now let's see if we can have some breakfast, and we'll go for a walk around the place."

It was a long, dreary day. Miss Temple thought keeping the children to their usual routine was the wisest course, and Tavington agreed. Julia could see the sense if having something else to think about. That left Amelia and Tavington in the library together, as the hours crept by.

The silence seemed too long in the afternoon. Tavington remarked to Amelia, "When I arrived in Charlestown, I thought you might still be visiting in there."

"I had a wonderful time in Charlestown," Amelia admitted. "I wouldn't mind living there all the time. It wasn't the same though, after the judge went to New York."

Tavington took in this bit of information, and stored it away for further consideration. "I recollect that you saw something of the Miss Martins and their aunt. I traveled to Charlestown in Captain Martin's company, and stayed with the family overnight before coming home."

"They're very nice. Mrs. Selton does dress a little _young_, though, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure I understand—"

Amelia's chin lifted, and Tavington was struck with how similar her high-bridged nose was to Elizabeth's, when criticising an acquaintance.

"Well, Mrs. DeLancey said that it wasn't the thing for a widow over thirty to dress in all those bright colours and show so much of her---neck-- so early in the day." She hurried on, conscious that she might be considered catty. "I mean, she's very genteel and all that, but Mrs Pinckney always wears dark colours, and she's even younger—" She saw Tavington's amused expression, and gave an embarrassed laugh. "I sound like Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva, don't I, sitting in judgement? Anyway, the Martin girls are very nice---Margaret is, anyway. I don't know what to think of little Susan, sometimes. She sits there without a word, like a silent little sprite. They missed their father terribly. How nice that you met him on the ship." She paused, and seemed to recall something. "How is Mr. Martin—I mean young Mr. Martin, that is?"

Tavington thought it best to answer honestly, and hoped for no tears or scenes. "Mr. Martin is very well. He is a lieutenant now, and was recently married."

He waited for an explosion, but no explosion came. Amelia looked a little surprised, and drew a breath, and then seemed to accept the news. "I wish him well. He is a very good young man. Do you know Mrs. Martin?"

Tavington suppressed a sardonic smile. "Fairly well. She is a very pretty young woman, and very devoted to Mr. Martin. I was not pleased that he resolved on marrying so young, but so he did."

"Well, as you say, he is very young," Amelia agreed, dismissing Thomas Martin as if she were far older than her sixteen years. "And boys have so little to offer, after all, compared to grown men."

__

What has DeLancey been at, those months with her in Charlestown? Tavington wondered, somewhat alarmed.

Before he could quiz her about for more details of her life among the DeLanceys, Dolly came running downstairs, to call out the news that he was officially a father.

He took the stairs two at a time, and gently pushed past the curious children crowding around the door of Elizabeth's room.

They had smoothed the sheets over her, and he guessed they had tidied her a little, but Elizabeth looked dreadful: ghostly white and terribly weak. There was a sprinkling of red around her eyes, he guessed from blood vessels burst during her labour. She managed a wan little smile, and then turned to look at the newborn baby in her arms.

Charlotte Montgomery was smiling broadly. "A fine baby boy!"

Tavington sat down on the bed beside his wife, and stroked the baby's face with a finger. The little fellow opened his mouth in a yawn, exposing tiny pink gums, and Tavington felt his heart lurch. "Hello, little Will," he whispered. He looked unhappily at Elizabeth. What he saw frightened him.

Elizabeth must have perceived his distress, for she murmured, "I'm all right, really, dearest. I'm just very tired." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes closed.

Phoebe touched his shoulder, concerned and kind, and told him, "Don't you worry none, Colonel. She'll be fine. She didn't lose too much blood, and everything came out that should. She just needs her sleep, that's all. Dolly and me, we'll give the baby his bath and get him nice and clean, and then when Miss Elizabeth wakes up, she can start learning how to give him a good feed."

Charlotte offered timidly, "I can sit with her, Colonel—"

"No," Tavington refused. "No, thank you, Mrs. Montgomery. Your children have been asking for you. I shall sit with her."

Phoebe and Dolly chuckled and whispered to each other, as they bathed and swaddled his little son. Tavington caught a glimpse of pink arms and legs waving beyond the doting women's broad backs, but his greater concern was for his wife. He took her small, limp hand in his, stroking the silky skin, studying the pattern of the blue veins.

He had pledged himself to this pale, fragile woman, and he recognised that she meant far more to him than any paltry promotion. _She_ was his home; and this was the place where he could do the most good and feel the greatest happiness. Thank God he had come to his senses and been here to welcome his child into the world. It was not a question of whether Elizabeth or he himself could manage Arcadia better: they would manage it _together_.

With a wry laugh, he remembered a story Colonel von Fuchs had told him about the late King of Prussia. When an assault had faltered, Frederick the Great had admonished his soldiers, crying, "Rogues, do you want to live forever?" A soldier, grown old in the King's service, replied, "For today's pay we have done enough." Tavington reckoned that, in a career spanning twenty years, he had done enough for King and Country himself.

Let others worry who owned an acre or two in far-away Virginia. He must return to the army, indeed, at the end of his two months. But then, he would put his affairs in order, leave the British Legion to the hand of Providence, and turn his face toward home.

-----

Notes: 

The quote from Thucydides' _The Peloponnesian War_ is not from an 18th century translation, but from the modern one by Rex Warner (Penguin Classics). I, too, thought it very apropos when my daughter eagerly read out her new favorite quotation to me this week.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers:

Zubeneschamali- Thank you. I hope this chapter makes your current weekend, too. This was my first foray into alternate history, and it's been hard, but a lot of fun. And it's always great fun to write a ball. Yes, Polly's facing a number of crises, but I'll try to have her deal with them effectively, and come out of them a happy person. I gave the whole Montgomery question a lot of thought, and decided I had to treat them as children, and not as a joke, and so the above. Hope it's OK!

SlytherinDragoon- I'm glad you liked the family reunion. I couldn't resist putting them all in the same room together, just to see what would happen. I've always liked Polly, and planned some sort of romance from the beginning. Some of my earlier drafts were a little more explicit, but I decided that was just making too much trouble for my characters!

Nomorebraces—Hope your pleased with how I worked things out for Tavington. He didn't mean to develop a crush on Polly—it just happened!

pigeonsfromhell—Glad you liked the three-way social call and the ball scene. They were fun to write.

Carolina Girl- Thank you for the nice long review. Yes, Dinah and Anne would never have gotten along, so it's best that they never meet again. Polly had to bear a lot in her life, and she's really pretty strong. In our timeline, she had suffered much more and had been more damaged by it. Tavington had been lonely, and around her for so long that he was becoming more and more attached to her, especially when he saw that she was a little lonely too. Things don't always work out perfectly, but that doesn't mean people can't find happiness in unexpected ways. Once Tavington was home, he remembered why he liked it so much, and why he married Elizabeth in the first place.

Next chapter: **Destiny's Threads Untangled, Part 2.**


	15. Destiny's Threads Untangled: Ferguson

_ Disclaimer: See Chapter 1_

** Chapter 15: Destiny's Threads Untangled—Ferguson and the Featherstones—November 1781, and April 1782**

"More tea, Mrs. Martin?"

"No—I thank you."

A little nervously, Dinah Martin sat in the neat parlour of Miss Featherstone's old friend, Mrs. Cartwright. Dinah was trying very hard to establish herself in her new role as officer's lady, and was very obliged to Miss Featherstone for teaching her fine manners and introducing her to her acquaintances.

Dear Tom was busy and gone much of the time. There was little to do, now that she had nearly finished her baby linen, and sometimes the days seemed long. Her health was sound as ever, though, and she found going out to pay calls and make new friends a pleasant sort of exercise.

Polly looked gratefully at Mrs. Cartwright. She was so good and so eager to see the best in everyone. Other old neighbors had snubbed Polly, and whispered behind her hands. Some had even crossed the street to avoid her presence. Mrs. Cartwright, however, had allowed her to enter her house, and after the first uneasiness, had embraced her, not wishing to hear her admissions or apologies. The pure-minded old lady had decided to accept the most optimistic version of events. Sally and Polly, deserted by their wicked uncle, had been found by kind Colonel Ferguson, who had sheltered the helpless girls until he could return them to their home and ask permission to marry Sally. Finding her uncle deceased, and so unable to consult her family, he and Sally had gone ahead and married quietly. Mrs. Cartwright's only regret was that she had not been present at the wedding.

Though November, it was still a fine day, mild and clear. Polly had needed a good walk, and some time spent in the company of other women to help clear her head. She had nearly made her decision, but wanted to think over all the possibilities before committing herself.

What a difference wealth made! Polly could not help feeling a little cynical. As news of her newly-inherited fortune spread, Polly's censorious old neighbors had grown cordial, gentlemen had approached her openly and courteously, and tradesfolk obsequiously welcomed her custom. Sally might allow herself an ironic smile for some of the more recently converted well-wishers, but Polly had decided to behave as if the past had not existed. Her thoughts were her own, and she did not care to share them with casual acquaintances.

How she loved Sally and dear Colonel Pattie! It had become more and more painfully clear, however, that they must part. In the end, it was the wisest, the safest, the best course. Though her Colonel had made clear that Polly would always have a home under his roof, she felt they had too much history amongst them to continue living together. The Colonel had said that he and Sally would sail to Scotland in April to visit his family, and would return the same year to settle in Charlestown. The warm climate was held to be the best for his somewhat indifferent health: better than London, better than New York, better than the West Indies. He was already full of ideas for a book he wished to write about the Insurrection. They would find a pleasant house in town, and he was already investing in shipping and the rice trade. Their income would be handsome, and their living comfortable. He had a large acquaintance in Charlestown, and would be within reach of his good friend Tavington.

The thought of William Tavington made her heart contract. She must not think of him anymore. Only sorrow could come of it. He had returned last week to the army, full of news about his home and his new little son. He was concerned about his wife, who was not recovering from her confinement as quickly as he would like. Tavington had decided to leave the army, and though his superiors were sorry to see him go, the Lord General himself had thought he was in the right: one's wife and family must come first.

Tavington had thrown himself back into his duties for the time being, and was even now patrolling along the Virginia Line. Mrs. Martin's husband, young Lieutenant Martin, was with him, hence the young wife's desire for diversion. When Dinah Martin had first approached her, begging her to help her refine her manners, Polly had found a welcome diversion of her own. Mrs. Martin did not see the irony of the situation: one campfollower teaching another to comport herself as a lady. She was a good-hearted, untutored girl, who was infinitely grateful to her husband for his generosity in marrying her. She was also sensible enough to know that his superiors might judge him by her behaviour, and was eager to make that behaviour pass muster. Mrs. Martin was doing quite well. Her pretty face disposed men in her favour; speaking softly and dressing with propriety really were all the refinements she needed to get along. Still, she had done more; absorbing all she could of gentle manners and deportment. She now wrote in the elegant hand of a lady, though the matter she wrote of was not always perfectly spelled.

Still, she would do very well. Certainly in the rough land of Kentucky, where she was bound next spring, she would seem as fine a lady as any.

Kentucky. It was more and more likely that Kentucky was her destiny as well.

"And when is your husband to return, Mrs. Martin?"

"Most likely tomorrow, ma'am. I shall be so happy when he is safe at home."

Polly was jolted back into attention to the conversation. Tomorrow. She had promised to give Duncan Monroe her answer on his return. He was Lieutenant Martin's commander, and if the lieutenant were coming, then, presumably, the captain would be leading his troop.

She had been inclined to him from the first. He knew of her past, and did not flinch from it. The day they met, on King's Mountain, he had spoken gently to her, and never, unlike so many other men, had leered at her or made coarse suggestions. Indeed, part of her inclination to him was that since he knew of her past, and did not flinch from it, or pretend he had never seen her in those days, she felt he could be trusted not to throw it up to her in the future. Further, he had urged his suit on the basis of their similar situations. They were both Virginians. They came from a similar background and would understand one another. They had both suffered dispossession and disaster, and had struggled to make a life for themselves as best they could.

He was also proud and honourable, making plain from the first that he meant to take up the Crown's offer of land in Kentucky.

"You see, Miss Featherstone, I shall never recover my land and fortune. It is in the Commonwealth, and they are not agreeing to any compensation. It is all very well for men like Kinlock and Ogilvie, indeed many of the Legion, whose property is in New York or Pennsylvania. Their rights are protected, and their futures are assured. I must make my own way now."

Hesitantly, she had said, "Perhaps, sir, if the lady you married had a fortune of her own—"

He had frowned, understanding, and shook his head. "It would be disgraceful not to bring something to a marriage. If I go to Kentucky, I will receive two thousand acres, and can contribute my just share to an alliance. I would not have it said that I married for money." 

"Another _very_ small piece of cake, my dear Mrs Martin? It is very wholesome, and I am sure will not upset you."

Polly tried to give her attention to the scene before her. Mrs. Cartwright was too kind to comment on her distracted behaviour. She accepted a piece of cake herself, and had a moment's more thought while occupied with eating it.

She thought Monroe a rather comely man. Not the type she had always admired, certainly, and not handsome as William Tavington was, but in his way a good-looking man: active, lithe, and vigorous, like all dragoons. He was tall, too; nearly as tall as his friend Captain Wilkins. His shaggy, dark-blond hair, his grey-green eyes, his quite handsome mouth and jaw all offset the broken nose and the rakish scar across his left cheek that gave an interesting twist to his smile.

After a few more pleasantries, the visit was over, and she left with Dinah Martin. They strolled back, enjoying the life of the street and exclaiming over the shop windows. They made a few purchases, and Dinah went her way at the next corner. Polly returned to her lodgings, once again lost in thought.

She hummed to herself as she doffed her cloak, and looked for a favourite paisley shawl to wrap around herself. The sitting room was deserted. She found her workbasket and moved it over to a chair by the window.

Singing softly, she began work on a present for Mrs Martin's baby.

_"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising,_

_I heard a young maiden in the valley below._

_'Oh, don't deceive me,_

_Oh, never leave me._

_How could you use a poor maiden so?'"_

"All right then," a deep voice agreed. "I'll never leave you."

"Captain Monroe!" She rose and curtseyed. He was bigger than she remembered him: more male, more muscular, more _there_. She felt a little intimidated. "I did not expect you until tomorrow. Why did the servant not tell me you had come?"

He smiled at her, "She did tell you, but you were too intent on your work to hear."

She blushed, and motioned him to sit. "Forgive me. I have a great deal on my mind."

He sat, arranging his long legs carefully. "I hope I was on your mind."

Her chair faced his, and she sat on the edge of it, her heart pounding. "Of course you were."

They were both silent. The fire crackled and the clocked ticked the time away. Nervously, she folded up her sewing, and set it back in the basket.

At length, Monroe spoke. "You promised me an answer."

Unable to sit still, she rose and went over to the window, looking away from him. She could go to Charlestown, once Colonel Pattie had purchased a house there. She could arrange it for them so it would be comfortable on their return from Scotland. She knew people in Charlestown. She would have Sally's companionship. She might see Tavington again.

Monroe had followed her to the window, and gently touched her shoulder. "Polly," he said. "Look at me."

She blurted out, "Marriage is such a serious and permanent undertaking. What if you regret marrying me? What if I hate Kentucky? What if you meet someone you like better?"

His slow smile warmed her. "I'm not going to meet anyone I like better. And we are going to love Kentucky, for it shall be our home."

"But—"

He did not stop to listen to her objections, but pulled her close to him, startling her into silence. He looked down at her, his eyes flicking to her mouth, her throat, her bosom, and then back up to look directly into hers. His strong hands kneaded pleasurably at her shoulders, and he bent to take her lips in a gentle kiss. His hands left her shoulders, and slid around her, until she was held fast and close in his arms. The scent of him, the essential scent of an active man, of liquor and leather and horses, of gunpowder and tobacco, intoxicated her. She had not been kissed properly in months, and felt herself melting into him; her arms returning the embrace, her own mouth seeking his hungrily. He broke the kiss with a last, sweet touch, and looked into her eyes once more; and her choice was made.

-----  
"Hurry, Tom! That's the churchbell now!"

"Straighten my cravat, won't you, Dinah?"

They bustled out the door, as fast as Dinah's growing awkwardness would allow. Sam Willett and his brother Walter joined them on the way to the church, and soon they were there, joining the rest of the British Legion and a great many of the American Volunteers for a proper military wedding.

Tom looked admiringly at Mrs Ferguson and Miss Featherstone. They might be ladies of blemished reputation, but he had always thought them very pretty. They looked happier and prettier than ever today, in their winter finery. Miss Featherstone had been wonderfully kind to Dinah, helping her learn new ways, and being good company for her. He had heard they had each inherited twenty thousand pounds from their rich uncle! No wonder Captain Monroe had sought out Miss Featherstone!

He was pleased for his much-admired captain. Monroe had been a teacher, friend, and brave commander throughout the war, and Thomas was delighted to see him win such a prize: a beautiful woman and a fine fortune. He thought complacently of the spring expedition to Kentucky. Captain Monroe had told him that he was going, and Thomas felt more confident about it, knowing that his captain would be there. Dinah was happy, too, not to lose her friend.

He looked around the church. Miss Featherstone was dressed in rich blue velvet and looked like a queen. Her sister was there, standing up with her. With Captain Monroe was Captain Wilkins, and Thomas hoped that he would be coming out to Kentucky, too. What a fine pair of men they were, so tall and soldierly!

So many men, and quite a few women, too, had crowded into the church. There was a nice-looking old lady, sitting up at the front with Colonel Ferguson. Colonel Tavington was there too, looking very serious. Thomas regretted that Colonel Tavington was not to be part of the Kentucky adventure, but would be leaving the army soon to go home to South Carolina. Thomas had been quite delighted to hear from the Colonel about how his commander had voyaged to Charlestown with his own father, and had met Aunt Charlotte and all the children. Occasionally, Thomas felt a little guilty about leaving Father, but he knew he could not pass up this great opportunity. Perhaps Father and Colonel Tavington would find occasion to improve their acquaintance. Perhaps they might even be good friends someday. Thomas consoled himself with the idea.

David McKay of the Queen's Rangers had slid down the pew to sit by Thomas. He, also, was going to be traveling to Kentucky. He whispered to Thomas, "Your Captain is a very sensible man, finding a wife to take with him. I'm very much of his mind."

Thomas wrinkled his brow questioningly.

McKay explained, very earnestly. "Kentucky is not exactly going to be full of eligible young ladies, unless you want to marry an Indian! If a man wants a proper wife, he'll need to find one here, and take her with him." He gave an approving nod toward Dinah. "Like your own charming wife. A very wise preparation for our journey."

Thomas returned his attention to the ceremony. He certainly did not regard Dinah as a part of his preparations, but he took McKay's meaning. His only anxiety was the date of departure. He hoped that their child was born and Dinah somewhat recovered by then.

Tavington watched the proceedings with mixed feelings of satisfaction and sadness. Polly seemed very happy, and Monroe seemed to value her as he ought. He wished that it might have been possible for them to have come to South Carolina. Elizabeth would like Polly, and Monroe was an intelligent and companionable man. Kentucky was a wild land and far away: anything could happen to them. Still, it was for the best. Monroe would no doubt do well, and perhaps it was a good thing for Polly to make a new beginning far from Pattie and from himself. Monroe had told him about the new lodgings he had found for himself and his bride. He had wisely put a little distance already between Polly and her old life. It was best that they be everything to each another from the first.

Like Elizabeth and himself. He thought anxiously about his Elizabeth, and counted the days until he could see her again. He considered taking her and the children to Charlestown for a month or two for a little diversion. Perhaps when she was feeling better. Right now, he wanted to know Arcadia in every season. He wanted to see his son again, who might have changed out of all recognition in his absence. What a wonderful little fellow! Tavington had never been particularly fond of children, but it was strange how much more appealing they were when they were one's own. Of course, little Will was an unusually winning and gifted child. Everyone said so, including his nurserymaids. It was certainly true.

Monroe was saying his vows, promising to worship Polly with his body. A very nice vow. Tavington felt gratitude to the Book of Common Prayer; and then a tender thrill of memory, recollecting his own such vow to Elizabeth, and how delightfully he had fulfilled it.

There now. They were married, and turning to the congregation. Polly was smiling at Sally and Pattie. She did not look at him, and he was a little hurt. Ah! Now she did, passing by him on her way out of the church on Monroe's arm. There was a brief, gentle glance. She had said goodbye.

-----

Winter was over, and packing had absorbed all their time recently. Ferguson was looking forward to the voyage home—as much as he ever looked forward to any travel by sea. Sally, brave girl, was excited about it as well. She had seen so little of the world that a journey to England, and then to Scotland seemed as daring as one to the Sultan in Constantinople. It was a diversion for her too, for Polly was packing for a journey of her own, and their departure might mark their last meeting in life.

The April weather was fair enough for their voyage. They would be gone before the Kentucky expedition set out on the 21st. His family were delighted to hear of his return, and had written kindly of their eagerness to welcome his bride.

He looked over Tavington's recent missive, and smiled thoughtfully.

_Arcadia Plantation_

_ March 2, 1782 _

_My dear Pattie,_

My kindest regards to your lovely lady and to yourself. I write as a simple country gentleman—and delighted to be so! The last few weeks have been mild here in South Carolina, and have afforded many days for exercise out of doors. The children are always eager to go riding, and the older ones show growing excellence in horsemanship. Your young friend and mine, my sister Julia, has become quite the sportswoman, and takes all the jumps over hedge and stream as fearlessly as any Amazon.

Elizabeth is much improved in health. She has lately begun participating in our expeditions, whenever I can lure her away from our son's cradle. Forgive the doting father, but I must write about my little boy. Other parents may make outrageous claims for their own children: I proclaim them all dupes or liars. It is our own little Will who is the cleverest, the most entertaining, the best grown, and most advanced for his age of any child on either side of the Atlantic. My dear Elizabeth says the same, and such a discerning woman could hardly be wrong.

At Christmas, we were astonished to have a visitor in Elizabeth's old friend Stephen DeLancey, whom you may recall as one of the gentlemen involved in the Theodosia affair. Elizabeth and I, at least were surprised. Amelia was markedly less so. Not only did the gentleman display a decided preference for Amelia's company, he actually approached me for permission to court her! The man is her sister's former fiancé, and only a year younger than I. Amelia is but sixteen, and our final decision was that if they are still so eager when she turns seventeen next September, we shall give the match our blessing. Amelia has certainly become very serious and steady, so perhaps the fellow's influence is not a bad thing. Popular as she has been in the past few months with the young men of the neighborhood, I did not quite see her as willing to accept a suitor so very much her senior. That is her fervent wish, however. Elizabeth has received letters from the man's mother and sister, strongly urging the marriage, and full of their affection and regard for Amelia. I suppose it could be far worse. For awhile she was flirting with one of my junior officers, who is a second son with no fortune.

Besides, with his notoriety and his service on the King's Bench, DeLancey has a fair chance at a knighthood in the near future. Lady DeLancey! Amelia would not dislike that. I did not think she would remain long unmarried, and I seem to have been right. Well for Elizabeth that she has found a friend and companion in Miss Temple, the children's governess.

Thank you for the news of Polly and Monroe. I am very pleased to hear of his transfer and promotion. Major of dragoons in the new Royal Kentucky Volunteers! It sounds very splendid. He is a fine officer, and I believe he will prove a good husband for Polly as well. I can certainly understand your wife's unhappiness at their plans, but it is a great opportunity for them.

I have been in contact with Danforth, the house agent. He sees a number of good prospects in the Charlestown area. Now is an excellent time to secure property, as we have found. We have purchased some land adjoining Arcadia, which rounds out the estate nicely. I have enclosed Danforth's communication. I trust you will find something that would suit. Pray let me know of any way I may serve you.

So, the Republicans are safely bottled up in their tight little enclave. One hears all sorts of rumours about their extreme politics and peculiar government. Much that I hear must be invented, for it cannot be true. That leaves the Commonwealth to concern ourselves with. Or for you to concern yourself with, at least until you sail for Scotland! Inevitably, there will be a war with the Commonwealth over the French sneaking into Baltimore harbour, or some border dispute, but I pray that it not be soon.

Elizabeth and I both look forward to your safe return and your happy establishment here in South Carolina.

I remain, my dear Pattie, your true friend and obedient servant,

Wm. Tavington

"My love, remember that we dine with Polly and Major Monroe tonight."

Sally sat at his side, and leaned her head affectionately on his shoulder. It was an agreeable thing, marriage to such a beautiful and agreeable woman. Only one more thing was wanting.

"I'll be ready in a trice, dear lass."

It was their custom now, when duty permitted, to meet at least once a week to dine and talk. Polly and Sally saw more of each other, of course, visiting back and forth. They were storing up years of memories for the time of their separation.

It was a particularly good dinner. The ladies withdrew, and he and Monroe sat together over a bottle of claret, sharing their plans.

"I've found another fine mare. Looks to have some Arab blood—a neat-footed little beauty, and strong."

Monroe was collecting a string of excellent horses to take on the journey west. As he rightly said, "People will always need good horses." He had settled on the scheme of breeding horses in Kentucky. Whether the country would suit such an endeavour remained to be seen. At any rate, it was as good an investment as any, and at least the creatures would not need to be carted. Unlike other things.

"The amount of provisions I judge necessary are enormous. Even two wagons seem hardly enough. Of course, we need to feed ourselves and the servants as well."

"It's well that you're going all together in a body. Such a train of women, horses, and loot would be a sore temptation to the local folk along the way."

"True. It's as much a military expedition as anything. But Cornwallis means to have a thriving town built and bustling before winter, and so we must be prepared to carpenter and cultivate as well as fight. There are still wild bands of rogue militia in the mountains to the west."

Ferguson nodded grimly. The war had dragged on for years, and some of the erstwhile soldiers had developed a taste for fighting and had never learned the arts of peace. There were some militia leaders who had never acknowledged the cessation of hostilities, and who lived by raiding. Both the Crown and the Commonwealth were trying to root them out. It was a touchy business, for the bands often took shelter behind one side of the border or another, making it difficult to pursue them without creating a _casus belli._ One of Cornwallis' aims in traveling west with his large force was to clear out these robber bands, and establish the King's peace throughout his territories.

He lifted his glass. "Luck to your enterprise."

Sally and Polly were lazing by the fire in the sitting room. It was so good to be together, just the two of the them. They had endured so much, and now fortune was smiling on them. Over the horizon loomed leave-taking and separation, but for the moment, life was good.

Sally spoke into the peaceful silence. "I've been feeling a bit off, lately."

Polly opened her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean---a little discomposed—perhaps a bit of indigestion now and then, perhaps not."

"Sally!" Polly sat up straight, awakening completely. "Do you think –truly?

"I hope so. Pattie wants a child so much. And of course now that-- _precautions_ --are no longer necessary, I had hoped to conceive sooner."

"Perhaps what happened before---"

"Perhaps. But that was a long time ago."

The thing they spoke of, the thing they could hardly bear to speak of, the thing they had never told another soul, was that Sally had born a child years ago. When their well-hated uncle had cast them out, Sally had been with child by him. With child and only fifteen. Their ugly experiences with the inn, the innkeeper and his beastly friends had not been salutary. The baby had been born early and dead. Sally had been weak and ill for some time, as they wandered south; and Polly had fed them with her meagre takings as a whore. It was a time they wished to bury so far deep in their memories that it would never arise again. Occasionally, Sally had feared that it might have made her barren, for she had not conceived since. Pattie had been careful, not wishing to beget a bastard for which he would need to provide, but still accidents would happen. She had pleased before, but lately she had begun to worry. Now, it seemed, her worries were over.

"It might not be so pleasant, carrying a child while at sea, but women do it all the time. I hope we can be home in Charlestown by the time it is born."

Polly got up and sat by her sister, putting her arms around her. "Oh, Sally, how wonderful! I pray it might be so. And now you have stolen my thunder, and the words from out of my mouth, so I should scold you."

"Polly! Really?"

"I'm absolutely sure. I was afraid, too, since I had never--but it seems all of those washings and rinsings, and –other things—must have worked. I have not used them since I married, and I have certainly conceived. And now we shall be mothers of children with fathers. Thank God."

They cuddled together, warm and at peace, and had completely dozed off by the time their husbands joined them in the sitting room and laughed at them heartily for their sloth.

-----

A few days later, Dinah was paying a call on Mrs. Monroe when her water broke; and her petticoat, her stockings, and the chair underneath her were soaked. She had felt some mild cramps earlier, but nothing she could not bear. It was so dull, being alone, that she had gone out, even though Mrs. Monroe and Mrs. Ferguson had promised to visit, and had told her it was not the thing for a woman in her advanced state to gad about. That, explained Mrs Monroe kindly, was what "confinement" meant. They had seen enough camp women give birth to know what was happening, and they tried to restrain Mrs. Martin from walking home again.

"But I must go home! Tom will worry if I am not at home when he comes back." She was quite irrational, and the landlady sent her boy out to hire a carriage to transport Mrs. Martin the short distance home. The other ladies went with her, helped her upstairs, undressed her, and sent for the midwife.

The midwife barely arrived in time. That good woman later declared that it was indecent for a lady to pop out a son in the space of three hours, with little pain and no danger. "It's the sort of thing that would put me out of business," she indignantly declared. "Giving birth like a plow horse!"

A servant was engaged, to help both as a maid and a nurse, if only for a few days. "But it's not so bad," Dinah protested. "It doesn't hurt near as much as the time the mule kicked me." She allowed the sisters to fuss over her a little, however, taking it correctly as a proof of their kindness. And after all, what a nice surprise when Thomas would come home, and find his little boy waiting for him!

"What is his name?" Mrs. Monroe asked softly, as a tiny hand grasped her finger.

"Ben—Benjamin. That's what Tom said we'd name him if he was a boy. After his own father. He's a very fine gentleman, his father. He gave me my pearl cross." She was growing sleepy and a little confused.

Sally smiled, and Polly whispered to Dinah, "Yes, I know. You wear it every day, remember?"

"Umm." Dinah was sound asleep.

-----

**Notes:** Duncan Monroe's appearance is based on my own husband, except for the scar, the broken nose, and the 18th century smell (Polly was an 18th century woman, and liked it). Since none of you know my husband, picture instead Sean Bean, as he looked when he played Richard Sharpe about 10 years ago, or when he played Lovelace in _Clarissa_.

In retrospect, this is a chapter of pregnant women. However, I stand by it. Women in the 18th century seem to have been never pregnant, or pregnant all the time. None of my heroines however, is going to challenge women like Queen Anne, with her 18-odd pregnancies, or the Duchess of Leinster, who bore twenty children.

Thank you to my kind reviewers:

Zubeneschamali: Thanks for the review. You've given me a number of good ideas, among them portraying Mrs. Cartwright and David McKay again. Yes, I like Polly too, and tried to persuade her to do the best thing for herself. I think it will work out well. And it's true: it's very important for the womenfolk to make friends among themselves, for the men are often actually out there being soldiers, and cannot forever be dancing attendance on the heroines! Amelia is just bursting with hormones, and would have fallen, as you say, for any reasonably attractive man. She was actually living in the same house as DeLancey for some months, and found him pleasant, conversable, and with virtues Tavington could not have known about: DeLancey likes the company of nice, intelligent women, and is extremely good to his mother and sister. These are real points in favour of him being an excellent husband. She was also terribly impressed by his library and the fact that he actually reads the books and likes her to read them too. As to little Will: it was the flip of a coin. The coin flipped the other way for the next child.

LCWA: Thanks! Yes, the settling of Kentucky will loom large. It seemed a logical outcome. And Martin and Tavington are so alike in some ways that I thought, given different situations, they might take to one another. Glad you like the quotes.

Kontara: Thanks! Yes, like any war, the Revolution is full of possibilities and turning points. I recently read a book called _What If_, which is full of essays on potential military outcomes. One of the essays is called "Fifteen ways the Colonies could have lost the Revolution." The situation you mention was among them! I can think of a few more. It's a fun and challenging way to think about history.

Pigeonsfromhell: Thanks! No, I couldn't kill Elizabeth off. I played with the idea in my own mind, and got very depressed. My readers don't need to be that depressed. Bad things did happen, and my characters must die some day, but not today! Not today!

SlytherinDragoon: Thanks! See above about Elizabeth. I considered it, and rejected it as wrecking my story line and warping the narrative. There's no doubt that Ben and Will are going to see much more of each other as the years go by. I can't see any reason for them to not get along, unless there's a marriage between the kids in the two families that they don't approve of. Who knows?

Nomorebraces: Thanks! It's fun writing Tavington as a father. I could see him being the sort of guy who would think his own kid was the world's greatest. Also, he's determined to be a better father than his own was.

Angelfish23: Thanks! I enjoyed writing that!

Ladymarytavington: Thanks! And here it is.

Carolina Girl: Thank you! You raise many good points. It's very true that extended families were not uncommon. Charlotte Montgomery is just not up to running a household and raising children alone. The very idea of being left alone as the only adult back in the house in Camden overwhelmed and frightened her. I know I never show it in any of my stories, but her dispossession from her home back in 1779 was very traumatic, and she'll never get over it. The property itself has been reclaimed and rented, and she is getting income from it, which is being handled for her. All in all, the children are fairly well provided for, financially. She is very dependent emotionally on the Tavingtons, and it would take a serious suitor to dislodge her. She understands that the children need a stable environment and a good education, too. George was really already too much for her. She's very good with babies, and not so good once the babies start talking sense. Little Caroline was based on my niece Anna, who was pretty adorable as a baby. (Sorry, Anna! You're still a great kid!) I couldn't see any reason why William Tavington would not find the beautiful and genteel Charlotte Selton charming, if the war and politics were not an issue. And in another universe, and in another story, Polly and Tavington could be very happy together. In that universe, of course, they would either end up in Kentucky, or in our timeline in Nova Scotia. Or possibly in Barbados. I've toyed with the idea of Tavington, shirt open and displaying his most excellent chest, in the sultry sun of the West Indies ("Welcome to the Caribbean!").

Next chapter: **Thomas Finds His Destiny**


	16. Thomas Finds His Destiny

Disclaimer: Neither the rights to the Patriot, nor the history the film makers made up, belong to me.

Chapter 16: Thomas Finds His Destiny

The expedition to Kentucky was nothing like the lightning-fast raids Thomas had known with the Green Dragoons. The army was a huge and populous baggage train, trundling slowly south back across the Roanoke to Halifax, and then west across North Carolina. A regiment of foot, Webster's 33rd in fact, a sizable detachment of artillery, and the Royal Kentucky Volunteers made it too well-guarded a prize for the vicious little robber bands, which buzzed angrily about the countryside like bees kept from the honeypot.

The dragoons of the Volunteers, of course, scouted the road ahead, and patrolled the neighborhood, keeping their eyes open for trouble. Their progress slowed, as the land became more mountainous, and as every river forded, and every pass penetrated took greater time and effort. West of Greensboro, the country was very wild indeed, and the locals more shy of the vast army of strangers. Still, countryfolk came out now and then to look as they passed, pointing at the uniforms, at the cannon, and at the ladies traveling with the army. Above all, the sight of General Lord Cornwallis on a great white horse made as great an impression as if the King himself had appeared amongst them.

They reached the little village of Wilkesboro on May 29th. From long practice, they made a city of their own, with wagons covered with canvas, and with tents of all sorts and sizes. Some were fairly spacious and well-furnished: others more humble.

Thomas generally had the servants pitch the tent for himself and Dinah, though she often preferred to sleep in the wagon as they journeyed. Baby Ben was kept close and safe in a pillow-lined wooden box that served as his cradle.

"He's a proper little soldier himself," was Dinah's opinion. "Just takes it all in stride, and hardly ever makes a fuss, unless he's wanting a drink." She had forgotten all about the long dull days of her confinement. Now she was fully occupied with the care of her little boy, and was surrounded with life and activity all day long. There was little time most days for visiting or idle chatting, and she was often so tired when they halted at night, that she was asleep as soon as they had made camp and eaten.

Thomas had posted a letter to his father a few days before the expedition left for Kentucky, informing him of their plans and telling him about his new grandson. A few months hence, when they had arrived at their destination, he would write again, and give the letter to a courier traveling east. One day he would hear from Father again, certainly.

Polly Monroe was often tired herself, though her condition was not yet visible. Riding in the jolting wagon often made her nauseous, but it had to be borne. She was no horsewoman, so sometimes she walked, when the road was good enough; but walking six to nine hours a day was beyond her strength. A straw tick with pillows was arranged in one of the Monroe wagons, and she tried to sleep to make the days go faster.

It was twilight, and she rested on a camp stool by their fire, waiting for their servant Nancy to finish cooking supper. The mountainous country was pleasant in the evenings. Duncan had been out patrolling the area that day, attempting to make contact with the townspeople. Gradually, a party of horsemen came down a slope, emerging through the trees. Even at this distance, she could see it was Duncan with his men, but he was not alone: a tall stranger was with them, walking on foot beside the dragoons, dressed in the rough clothes of a woodsman. They were talking as they went along, and Duncan did not see her wave. The men were dismissed to care for their horses, and Duncan and the stranger headed off in the direction of the Lord General's tent.

"We'll wait a little longer for the Major, Nancy. I'm sure he'll be along directly."

Within half an hour, Duncan was back at their campsite and gratefully consuming his dinner. Polly waited for him to take the edge off his hunger, before bothering him with questions, but he began the conversation spontaneously.

"We met up with that fellow Daniel Boone, who did the exploring for the Transylvania Company. He's from around here. He has some land in Kentucky and wants to travel along with us. The Lord General put him on the payroll as a scout."

Polly looked at him anxiously. "You don't think he's a rebel, do you? Could he be plotting with—"

Duncan laughed. "No, I'm _sure_ he was a rebel sympathiser. He was pretty plain-spoken about it. He came back to join the rebels, but by the time the family got here, the opportunity in North Carolina was over. He thought about going up to the mountains in western Virginia, but he likes Kentucky more than he dislikes the King. After thinking it over, he decided to offer his services as scout to make sure the Lord General confirms his holdings in Kentucky, and to make sure his family can travel safely along with us. The whole area around here has been suffering from the leftover bands of militia. He was able to give us some information about one of the groups. They killed some friends of his, and he wants them dealt with before he's done with North Carolina."

"As long as you trust him." She got up, feeling very tired, and touched his shoulder. "I'm going to the tent now. Are you coming to bed soon?

He gave her his mischievous smile. "As soon as the army allows. You go on."

Polly left Nancy and Esau to set their camp in order for the night, and entered the tent she shared with her husband. It was reasonably spacious: certainly enough for just the two of them. She was heartily glad she was not traveling with small children, like many of the wives. She undressed, brushed out her hair, settled down in their cot, and had actually fallen into a light sleep when Duncan joined her.

She opened her eyes drowsily, comforted by his familiar presence. He unbuttoned his jacket, and sat on the edge of the cot, pulling off his boots, with a grateful sigh. In the light of the single candle, Polly again felt herself drifting off to sleep, only to be startled awake by the sound of a guitar and some deep voices singing around a nearby campfire.

"Sorry, Polly," her husband smiled. "It's a good half an hour before they must be quiet."

"If only they could carry a tune."

"It's not so appalling tonight." He listened, head cocked. "There's Fraser—he hasn't a bad voice."

The guitar wandered through an introduction, before settling on a lively and ribald ballad.

_"A trooper lad came here last night,_

_With riding he was weary,_

_A trooper lad came here last night,_

_When the moon shone bright and clearly."_

___"Bonnie lassie, I'll lie near you,_

___Hey bonny lassie, I'll lie near you,_

___I'll gar all your ribbons reel,_

___Bonny lassie, ere I leave you._

_____"She's ta'en his high horse by the head,_

_____She's led him to the stable,_

_____She's given him both corn and hay_

_____As much as he was able._

_______"She's ta'en the trooper by the hand_

_______And led him to the table,_

_______There's food and wine for a soldier here,_

_______As much as he is able._

_________"She went upstairs to make the bed,_

_________And she made it soft and easy,_

_________She's pulled her petticoats o'er her head,_

_________Crying, Soldier, are you ready?_

Polly giggled helplessly. She whispered, "Well—are you?" Monroe rumbled a laugh, and blew out the candle. He lay carefully beside her on the creaking, narrow cot, and pulled her close.

________

"Bonnie lassie, I'll lie near you,

Hey bonny lassie, I'll lie near you,

I'll gar all your ribbons reel,

Bonny lassie, ere I leave you."

-----

Boone's quarrel was with the former rebel militia band led by one "Colonel" Crawford. This group of some twenty-odd former soldiers had refused to accept the Carolinas remaining under the Crown. Crawford was from South Carolina, and had lost home and family there, and was very bitter against the King. At first, the band had attacked farms and businesses of known Loyalists, but with the death of the Colonel's father, the band had degenerated, and the men had begun raiding the area indiscriminately. They called it "tax collecting," or sometimes "requisitioning," but it inevitably involved stealing the necessities of life from the already poor, and the outlaws showed a growing indifference to injuring or killing those who resisted. Boone's friends were among the most recent victims. The family's only survivor, a boy of eight, had made his way to Boone's cabin to tell him how his parents and sisters had died.

Boone had made it his business to track the raiders to their lair. It had taken him nearly two weeks, but he had found the place and scouted it thoroughly. Crawford had "liberated" a large, well-built log house north of Wilkesboro from its "Tory" owners. The band had gathered their loot there, and were well provided for by it. The barns and outbuildings were full of provisions and arms, and they had collected the best of the neighborhood's horses and livestock. They were served by unwilling young women, kidnapped from their homes, and now living with the men who had made some of them widowed and childless. All in all, they were well set for a long tenure, and unless dislodged by a large force, would terrorise the area for years to come.

He decided there was nothing much he could do against the raiders alone, without undue risk to his own family. The other locals were too afraid to put up a fight. He knew, however, that the British expedition to Kentucky was on the march, and he sat down to wait for it. Crawford and his men would no doubt go to ground in their hideout and do nothing to attract the notice of so superior a force. It would be Boone's particular pleasure to bring the robbers to the King's justice.

Cornwallis heard him out, and agreed to the need to hunt the outlaws down. He took the precaution, however, of bringing Boone's family to the British camp as hostages for his new scout's good faith. Boone accepted this: he was planning to travel with the British anyway, and this simply speeded up the process. Jemima and the children were looking forward to returning to Kentucky, and even happier to be under the protection of the army. Boone never forgot the son he had lost years ago, killed by the Indians, during their first journey through Cumberland Gap.

-----

In the darkness before dawn, Monroe led the dragoons through the trail among the hills Boone had blazed for them. He had three troops at his command, and they would be more than enough to deal with these outlaws. He had a crude map of the area, and the plan was to surround and surprise the robbers in their stronghold. There were also women hostages to consider, and he wanted to move in and overwhelm the enemy before the women could be used as shields or otherwise harmed.

Thomas had dismounted and was leading his men through the trees on foot. Boone was up ahead, and they were looking for the robbers' lookouts. They were to deal with them as quietly as possible, and not alert the rest of the outlaws to their presence. He had ordered the men's silence, and now they waited, hearing only a mockingbird's song, until Boone made his way silently back to them. It was a chilly morning, and mist rose up from the ground.

Boone's weathered face cracked in a grim smile. "There's a fellow leaning up on a cedar 'bout fifty yards straight ahead. There's another back around yonder by the creek. He's sitting there on a stump, whittling. It don't seem either one's up to much. There are five or six men sleeping in the barn, and one was out in the privy."

"Was?"

"Well, I figured I should make sure he didn't get back to the house. If we get in there fast enough, likely nobody will miss him afore time."

"All right." Thomas considered. "Sergeant Davies—you take four other men up ahead. Deal with the lookout there, but silently. Use your swords or knives or anything but firearms. We don't want to wake the rest of the band. When you have finished with the lookout, give the signal—two owl hoots. We're going to skirt the trees on our way back to the other lookout. In the meantime, get as close to the barn as you can. Powder and weapons are stored there, and we want to make sure of them. After we deal with the second lookout, we will give the same signal, and we will then move on to the corncrib. Major Monroe's plan is to set fire to the corncrib as a diversion. When the outlaws run out to put out the fire, the dragoons will charge. We will rush the house, and secure it against the enemy using it as a fort. You are to do the same with the barn."

Davies gave him a grin and a jaunty salute. He and he men moved soundlessly and were soon lost in the dim light. It seemed to take forever, but it was really only a few minutes before Thomas heard the call of an owl, and then he and the rest of the men moved on, following Boone's sure lead.

The second lookout had a knife in his hand, and sliced one of the dragoons along the arm when he was seized from behind. Not a sound escaped him, though; for they covered his mouth, and he bit and struggled wordlessly before their swords found their mark, and he slumped to the ground.

Thomas led the men toward the squat corncrib, looming up ahead, silhouetted in the coming dawn. He motioned to McDonald, carrying a dark lantern, and the doughty fellow quickly opened the rough door and threw it in. Smoke rose from the interior, and then a faint glow. Flames were visible through the cracks in the log walls, and were licking their way to the roof in minutes. The dragoons moved back and took their positions along the side of the house, waiting for their moment. The windows were shuttered, and it was impossible to see what was happening inside.

From the direction of the barn, there was a hoarse shout. Either they were discovered, or someone had seen the fire. There was a stir inside the house. Another shout, this time clearer._ "Fire!_"

Almost instantly, they heard the front door slam open, and the sound of men stumbling outside. Boone was beside Thomas, and his lips were moving as he counted the number of men going out the door. Thomas saw him reach "eleven," and then there was a shot from the direction of the barn. No use waiting any longer.

"Follow me!"

He ran around the front of the house, knocking a shocked man down. He ran on, hearing the sounds as his dragoons accounted for the fellow. He ran inside, Boone and the rest at his heels. The house was lit by the glow of the fireplace, and the sleepy women there saw Thomas and his men bursting upon them. Immediately there were shrill screams of fright, and Thomas shouted them down into frightened submission.

"I am a British officer! Do not resist, and you will not be harmed!"

His men knocked the shutters open to shoot through, and others were running through the house to find any men still there. There were shots fired in the room off to one side, and a woman's scream.

A distant roar, and the sound of hoofbeats. The dragoons were charging. His own men were in place, and shot down the outlaws who tried to run back into the house.

A half-naked girl grabbed at Thomas, crying, "Are you going to kill them? Are you going to kill them?" He shrugged her off, pushing her out of his pistol's line of fire.

He shouted, "Are there any others here?"

She looked back at him wildly, and another woman answered with a gesture and a frightened whisper. "Two up in the loft. But don't hurt Becky."

"Fraser!" he dropped his voice. "In the loft. Two men and a woman."

The big sergeant gave a sharp nod, and headed to the ladder. Thomas ran to the bedchamber, where he had heard shots. Two of his men were there, searching the room. A frightened, bloodstained woman huddled under a quilt. A big man was lying dead on the bed, a huge red hole in his chest. He stared blindly at the ceiling, while the soldiers rummaged through a trunk and the clothes chest for loot.

Thomas ordered sharply. "Get those shutters open and get your carbines ready for anything in front of that window." He turned to the young woman in the bed. "Get some clothes on. No one's going to hurt you." He gave a brief, pointed glance at the men, who glumly ignored the girl's hurried dressing.

There were shouts from the loft and the sound of someone falling to the floor below. A girl wailed "No!" and a man screamed in pain.

Thomas came out of the bedchamber to see his men finishing off a naked outlaw. There was a crash in the loft and another outlaw was thrown down the ladder, dead.

Fraser head appeared in the loft opening, and grinned. "There's two more down, sir. One of the brutes tried to throw the girl on my sword to protect himself, the dirty coward. She didna get more than a scratch, though. If someone will toss me up my carbine, I have a good field of fire from the window up here."

It was over fairly soon. The surviving four outlaws threw down their weapons and were rounded up to take back to camp. The women, hastily dressed in what they had, were gathered before Major Monroe, who promised that they would be returned to their homes.

"But sir," one of the frightened girls told him, "some of us don't have homes anymore. And some of us," she blushed, her hands uselessly trying to hide her condition, "wouldn't be welcome anymore."

"If you are willing to do honest work," Monroe reassured her, "you can be put on the payroll as cooks or laundresses." The men were pleased at the prospect of more women in the regiment, and some were already making friendly advances to the girls they had rescued. Thomas noticed that Fraser was solicitously bandaging the girl Becky.

The journey back to camp was uneventful. The outlaws were summarily tried and hanged by order of the Lord General. There was some difficulty in dealing with the locals' claims for a portion of the band's loot. Thomas was glad that he had nothing to do with that business. They were soon back on the march, richer for the food, powder, and women they had won.

Within two weeks, they made their way up the mountain trail, and stood on the windy heights, while the land beyond lay like a map before them.

Dinah had enjoyed the journey for the most part, and was sitting up in the front of the wagon, eagerly taking in the view at the top of Cumberland Gap. Little Ben was in her arms and she held him up to see as well.

Thomas rode up to share this with her, and said, "I feel like that part in the Bible, when Satan took Jesus up to the mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the earth."

"Well," said Dinah practically. "We don't need all the kingdoms of the earth. Kentucky will do just fine for us."

------

------

Sally Ferguson had been staggered by Scotland. The fine houses she knew were the white-painted or red brick mansions of the colonies. She had seen a few pictures of castles; but at her first sight of the real thing, she had stared in awe, her mouth a round O of wonder. She had wanted to see all of Edinburgh, and Pattie was thoroughly glad he had married such a brave and adventurous lass, for after a while, the strange food, the strange voices, and the distance from everything she had ever known began to take its toll.

His own family, and all the connections of Stirlings and Stuarts, thank God, had treated her well enough. He had written to them of her beauty and her fine fortune, and they were well pleased with both. Sally, in fact, was blooming like an exotic American flower. His mother, starved for grandchildren, and his spinster sisters were overjoyed at her condition, and touched her growing belly with the license of near relations.

All in all, he was very glad he had gone home. He had not seen his family in years. It was so important that they know and recognise Sally. It was equally important that she understand his background, his family, and how they had shaped him. Best of all, he had had a chance to see his mother again, and dear old Aunt Bettie. His mother had tried not to weep at what the war had done to him; but sometimes he would see her look at his arm, and then her eyes would redden, and she would look away.

Aunt Bettie, his mother told him, had been living only to see him again, and she died in July during their visit. They buried her in the kirk at Pitfour, and as they gathered, he looked with a stranger's objective eye at his aging, childless family.

It was curious. He had come from a large family himself, and yet his brothers and sisters had not a child amongst them. Two sisters never married, the other married but barren; his elder brother, the laird of Pitfour, never married himself. His other brothers had no children in wedlock either. During the visit to Pitfour, Sally seemed duly impressed. He did not speak of it to her, but he could see that she understood that any son of theirs would be his brother Jamie's heir.

Only once, on a chill and windy night, had he heard her sniffling to herself, as she lay sleepless beside him in the draughty bedchamber. He had turned to her, carefully arranging his maimed arm, and clasped her close with the other. "Sally, my dear—are you ill?"

She had tried to stifle her sobs, but she then she cuddled close, and choked out, "I miss Polly."

"Of course you do, dear lass. I know you were never apart before, but remember all my sisters are yours now, too."

It had taken some time and trouble to console her and lull her back to sleep. He missed Polly himself. It was a sorrow they must endure, and there was no help for it. With time, the pain would be less, but Polly would never be forgotten.

His family pleaded with him to stay for the child's birth, but Pattie, most reluctantly, had deemed it necessary to leave at the beginning of September. If they had waited for the birth, it would be December before Sally would have recovered enough for the voyage, and that would have meant sailing at the most dangerous time of year. Staying until spring was equally unwise: he would have to endure the damp and chill of a Scottish winter. They said their farewells, and had a rather choppy voyage home. When they disembarked at Charlestown harbour on October 27th, Sally had never been so happy as when she waddled forth onto dry land. 

-----

Though November, it was a pleasantly mild day, and Tavington had gone fishing with George. The girls, even Julia, had proclaimed fishing dull and smelly, and were otherwise engaged in what George described as "female folderols," while the two of them sat quietly on the banks of the Black River. Tavington took a workmanlike pride in George. The boy was doing well, and though only twelve, was a pleasant companion for shooting and fishing. With the combined efforts of Elizabeth, Miss Temple, and himself, George had also made more of an effort with his studies, especially once he learned that Tavington liked reading, and could read Latin and Greek. _My Latin's a great deal better than my Greek, though,_ Tavington thought ruefully. He had hated school himself, and subverted every attempt of the masters to teach him anything. Now George wanted help with his classics, and Tavington was relearning a great deal as he glanced over George's work. They would certainly have to send him to school at some point, if they could find a decent place. Perhaps DeLancey might know of one.

He had other concerns as well. He was still resolved never to own slaves, but hired help was a different matter from the huge workforce that Arcadia had once commanded. It would be some time before commerce flowed as smoothly as it had before the war, and Arcadia was far from making the profits it had in times past. They were experimenting with more efficient use of the labour at hand, and some different crops, and he was hopeful that they could solve the problems. Luckily, the price of tobacco had soared, which offset their reduced production.

George had a bite. The line moved, and something tugged at his fishing pole, bending it toward the river.

"Easy, George," Tavington encouraged quietly. With some coaching from Tavington, and a great deal of splashing in the slow green water, the boy was hauling in his prize, when they heard hoofbeats approaching.

Julia was on her grey pony, Quicksilver. Dressed in her habit and boots, she was an elegant sight, and knew it. She was leading her "troop," the three little Montgomery girls, on their own ponies. Tavington did not like to see them riding all alone, but permitted it as long as they did not leave the estate.

"Captain Julia!" he called, "What have you to report?"

She was waving a piece of paper at him, and called back as she trotted closer.

"You have a letter, Colonel! I knew you'd want it."

Tavington thanked her and took the sealed missive. The handwriting on the direction seemed familiar and he opened it with some interest.

"It's from Colonel Ferguson," he exclaimed with pleasure. "He and his wife have arrived in Charlestown and are at their house in Queen Street."

"Was Scotland wonderful?" asked Julia eagerly.

"Are we going to go see them?" asked George, in his turn.

Tavington smiled at Julia. "Apparently Scotland was quite wonderful, but they are happy to be settling into their own home." Turning to George, he said, "Yes, of course we shall see them. I'm glad they'll be back in time for Amelia's wedding." _Sally probably won't_ _be able to attend_, he amended to himself. He would love for Pattie and Sally to come to Arcadia for an extended visit. He could talk it over with them in Charlestown. Sally was near her time, and probably would not be in a mood to stir herself very soon. Perhaps in a few months, she and the child would be well enough for a journey. Elizabeth adored meeting new babies.

They were leaving for Charlestown in a few days. Amelia and DeLancey were formally betrothed, and since she had turned seventeen in September, it seemed ridiculous to make them wait any longer. Colonel and Mrs. Tavington had given their blessing to the match. Elizabeth had asked her sister if she wanted to be married from Arcadia, but Amelia preferred an elaborate ceremony at St. Phillip's in Charlestown.

He and Elizabeth could not leave Arcadia at harvest time, and so late November had been chosen for the wedding. The women had done all they could to get Amelia's trousseau in order, but many fabrics and furbelows must be bought in the city. Tavington had arranged to rent a large house there for a month. Elizabeth did not grudge her sister the time or expense, but had remarked that "it would be a challenge."

In fact, it was an enormous undertaking, and would use many of the skills he had learned when moving troops in the Army. Taking the entire horde of women, children, servants, and their belongings required three carriages and a wagon, and would need several days to reach their destination. It could not be done without careful planning. Once in Charlestown, there would be dinners and a ball to host; and Amelia's notions about her wedding gown and Julia's bridesmaid's gown would require hiring professional dressmakers. The little Montgomery girls were all getting new gowns as well, and were looking forward to the festivities with the excitement of children not responsible for the success of said events.

They would see Elizabeth's cousin James Wilkins, too. He had written to them two months ago, telling them he had returned to Charlestown, and was settling his affairs before undertaking the restoration of his home, Greenwood. He would be visiting them in a few months; and they had heard, though other sources, that he was being detained in Charlestown by his pursuit of a lady. Tavington had abandoned his hopes for Wilkins and Charlotte Montgomery. Charlotte was quietly and happily settled at Arcadia now, devoted to all the little ones; and she seemed disinclined ever to marry again. Besides, Tavington had become attached to the children, and found the idea of entrusting them to someone else decidedly disagreeable.

He and George gathered up their tackle and their catch and began the walk back to the house, Julia and George's sisters keeping them company. They thumped up the front steps, and Phoebe, the housekeeper, watched them with narrowed eyes to make sure their mud-caked boots were removed before entering the house. Tavington indulged her. She was an excellent servant and needed to be something of a martinet to keep the house in order. She quickly spirited the fish away to the kitchen. He sent the children on to the upstairs nursery, and went to look for Elizabeth.

She was in the library, going over the account books . He brushed a dark curl from the nape of her neck before placing a kiss there. She pretended not to notice him, and went on scratching out her sums. Only an arch of her neck invited him to continue as he had begun. He pressed another more lingering kiss, and when this was ignored, he kissed her yet again, and licked her teasingly. She started, with a faint squeal, and blotted her figures.

"William, you savage!" She laughed, and set aside her pen, drawing him close for a kiss. "You smell like fish."

Tavington pulled a chair up, and looked over the numbers she had come up with. They were better than he had hoped. "I've been lazing about on a sunny river bank, while my wife slaves over the accounts. At least I am providing dinner today." 

"What was in the letter?"

"Pattie is in Charlestown, safely arrived with Mrs. Ferguson. The child is due any day."

"Oh, the poor lady. I can't imagine what she endured being with child all those months at sea. They are well?"

"Pattie always says he is well. Perhaps they can visit in a few months."

"Yes, of course." She sighed. "They can have Amelia's room."

He kissed her again, and put his arm around her. "Amelia is going to be very happy. DeLancey treats her like a goddess, and his mother and sister adore her."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Yes, I know all that—she's just so young, and she's seen so little of the world."

"Well, that's going to change. She's quite looking forward to seeing DeLancey's plantation in the Bahamas. A smooth voyage to the Caribbean, a month in the islands—she'll come back very much a woman of the world."

She gave him her sweet, ironic smile. "It's so like Stephen: combining his honeymoon with a business trip."

"She'll have a rich, prudent, cautious man."

"But I have my brilliant, reckless, brave one. And I know," she murmured, her lips brushing his jaw, "which is best."

-----

Ben Martin looked around the church. It was nearly bursting with family, friends and well-wishers. He had been touched and honoured by Stephen DeLancey's request to stand up with him at his wedding. His children were delighted at a trip to Charlestown, and the girls especially looked forward to attending Miss Wilde's wedding. Even more delightful, from their point of view, was the invitation to the ball two nights before. The Tavingtons were kind to invite his children, but no doubt felt they would be good company for their own charges. With the ball, dinner with the DeLanceys, and a very substantial wedding breakfast this morning, he had enjoyed more society than he had known for years. His children were having a wonderful time, and were renewing old friendships and making new ones.

He had finally met Amelia Wilde, the girl Thomas had written him about, and he had felt a pang of regret. She was a lovely, refined young lady, and reminded him a little of his own dear Elizabeth, gone now for so many years. She would have kept Thomas in South Carolina, no doubt. He had cast an appraising eye on the youngest Wilde girl, little Miss Julia. She was a remarkably pretty child, more like her elder sister than Miss Amelia, but still very pretty indeed, in spite of her dark hair and eyes. She would likely have the same five thousand pounds her sisters were said to have had, and was a spirited, lively thing. Perhaps someday Nathan or Sam could improve their acquaintance with her---no, it was pointless to try to predict the future. In the meantime, though, there was no harm in the children becoming friendly. The Tavingtons' wards, too, were a likely lot: the girls very blonde and dainty, the boys fine young fellows. The older one had inherited a good bit of land to the north west, and might do for Margaret---_no, stop it, Ben: just because you're at a wedding, you need not marry off the whole world._ The children's mother, Charlotte Montgomery, was a very pretty, very gentle woman herself, her shining hair set off by her mourning dress.

His own sister-in-law, another Charlotte, was at the wedding too; but not alone. Captain James Wilkins had returned to South Carolina, and had begun paying open court to her. Ben had never been close friends with Wilkins, but the man had been kind to Thomas when they were in the army together, and he felt an obligation to him for that. He hoped it would work out for the best. It would be unreasonable of him to expect Charlotte to care for his children, when she was young enough to have a family of her own. He had entertained some imaginings about her, but it would never do. Charlotte was Church of England, through and through, and marriage to her former brother-in-law was held to be incest.

Stephen was looking as nervous as he did the day they took back the _Theodosia._ Ben caught his eye and gave him an encouraging smile.

"Do you have the ring?" Stephen asked him anxiously.

"No," Ben told him. _"You_ have it in your waistcoat pocket."

His friend searched the pocket in question, and heaved a sigh of relief. "Yes, I remember now." He held it briefly in his hand, and Ben glanced at it. It was quite a ring, and would provide the future Mrs. DeLancey with some exercise simply in lifting her hand. He repressed a grin and looked around a little more.

There was good old Mrs. DeLancey, and her daughter, the widowed Mrs. Pinckney. A nice woman, he knew, but too plain and quiet for his taste. There was Colonel Tavington's friend, the renowned Colonel Ferguson, clearly enjoying himself, as he chatted with one of the young Montgomery children. He had come to live in Charlestown with his wife. Rumour had it that there was some scandal about Mrs. Ferguson, but Tavington, Wilkins, and the rest of the military contingent were standing by their friend and not confirming any gossip. He had heard the lady was very beautiful, but she was not present, having given birth to a son a few days before.

Mrs. Tavington was there, of course, elegantly dressed. He had to admit she was a comely woman, though not of a type he particularly admired. He remembered the time he had visited Arcadia to go looking for waterfowl with her father the naturalist. John Wilde had made a point of introducing her to him, but the girl (and she could not have been more than twenty then) had plainly felt as little interest in him as he in her. She appeared extremely happy with Colonel Tavington and he wished them both well. There was another lady with her whom he had met at the Tavingtons' ball: a very attractive woman with luminous grey eyes and a serene air. She was the family governess, an Englishwoman named Miss Temple. Ben took another look at her. She was reported to be very accomplished and very good with children. He had seen something of that himself the other night. Mrs. Tavington thought highly of her, and had spread word of her virtues throughout her acquaintance in Charlestown.

Miss Wilde entered the church on the arm of her brother-in-law, and there was a rising murmur of approval and admiration. Her white satin wedding gown would be the talk of Charlestown and his own household for months, he predicted with resignation. He could see his own daughters were overcome with delight and awe at her pearls and lace. He smiled kindly: she looked like a fairy princess, and he was happy for his friend to have gained such a lovely young creature for his bride. Her younger sister, as bridesmaid, looked extremely pretty and fashionable too, in a rich cranberry-coloured satin.

It was a beautiful wedding, as all weddings should be. He thought of his own wedding, and of Gabriel's. Once again, he regretted not seeing Thomas married; and while the familiar ceremony progressed, he thought over the letter he had received, months on the way from Thomas in faraway Kentucky.

_August 4, 1782_

_My dear father,_

_We are safely arrived in Kentucky, and have made a strong camp on the Ohio River. The Lord General is having the engineers lay out a town that is to be called Kingston. We will receive our land grant soon, and will be proud when he hold our patent from the Crown._

_Your grandson, little Ben, is a very good baby, and has blue eyes like yours. He is already very strong and stout and has his mother's sweet nature. Everyone who sees him says what a fine boy he is, and they are not just being polite._

_We had a few adventures on our way across North Carolina and going over Cumberland Gap. Mr Daniel Boone, the scout for the Transylvania Company, joined us around Wilkesboro and led us straight and sure through the mountains. He wanted to travel with us with his family, and make sure that he wouldn't lose his land in Kentucky. He also wanted us to clear out some robber bands that had been troubling the local people, and we did._

_By this time next year we should have built a house of our own. Kentucky is a very fine land, and looks to be good for corn and tobacco. Major Monroe is planning on raising horses, and brought some good breeding stock from Virginia. The hunting and fishing is good here too. Dinah and I are well pleased here and feel we are very fortunate._

_We think of you every day that we light the candles in our fine silver candlesticks. Dinah is so proud of them that she keeps them polished like mirrors. She also says thank you again for her cross._

_My love and respect to you, father, and please give my love to all my brothers and sisters. Maybe they will want to come out to Kentucky one day. Maybe you will yourself. I know you would like it here._

_I remain, sir, your most dutiful and loving son,_

_Thomas_

Ben was brought back to reality as DeLancey fumbled in his pocket for the ring. He nearly dropped it, but in a few moments, it was safely adorning the new Mrs DeLancey's fair hand. The service was ending, and they turned around to leave. Ben Martin took another look at the congregation. Mrs. Tavington's smile was strained, and her husband looked rather reserved. Ben suspected he was as tired of the business as he himself would be in his place. One's own wedding was a memorable event, but other people's weddings, especially an enormous affair like this, were bound to be wearisome.

The weather had held, and the open carriage stood waiting for the happy couple. Flushed with the congratulations of the friends crowding around them, the two of them were finally able to break away and thank Ben for coming.

Ben bowed to the lady, and firmly shook DeLancey's hand.

"You will be very happy, I know."

"Thank you, my dear Martin," DeLancey said fervently. Smiling and happy, he looked ten years younger, and nearly handsome. _Well, _thought Ben wistfully, _there's no fountain of youth like a beautiful and loving young girl._

Colonel and Mrs Tavington came to bid the newlyweds farewell: Mrs Tavington with kisses and whispers for the bride, the Colonel with discreetly veiled threats for the groom.

Ben found himself standing next to little Miss Julia, who was watching the proceedings with a jaundiced eye.

Without preamble, she asked him, "Do you like weddings?" 

He was not sure what to say. His own children were still talking excitedly about the ceremony, the lady's clothes, and the soldiers' uniforms. He answered, "Well, I think your sister certainly had a fine one."

"I think I'll just run away and elope. Or maybe I'll be an old maid, like my Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva Everleigh. Everyone was scared of her. Except the Colonel, of course."

He laughed. "It will be different when you're the bride yourself."

"Maybe." She seemed skeptical. "But I only want to marry someone really wonderful. If I can't find someone like that, I just won't."

"Julia!" called a pleasant, English voice. "The carriages are waiting!"

"Coming, Miss Temple," the girl replied. She curtseyed gravely to Ben. "It's very nice meeting you, Captain Martin. I thought for awhile that Melly would marry your son, but she didn't and he went and married someone else. There's no accounting for people sometimes."

"No," he agreed, with a smile and a bow. "There isn't."

He heard the attractive voice say something just out of his hearing. He turned to have another look, but she had already gotten into the carriage; and his future wife was gone, for the moment.

-----

Elizabeth smiled as her little sister clambered into the carriage. "I saw you having a nice chat with Captain Martin."

"Yes, he's all right. I was talking about how we thought for a while that Melly would marry his son, but she didn't." George was in the carriage with them, and Tavington then joined them. His lips twitched at Julia's frankness. The carriage rumbled as they set off.

She went on. "Then I told him I might just elope when I get married."

Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, Julia! You didn't"

"Yes, I did. I hate seeing you all bothered to death with this wedding business. Melly's been going on for months about how this was 'her day' and fussing that everything had to be perfect. I'll just run off and get married._ If_ I get married."

"Don't worry, Julia." George said generously. "If you can't catch anybody else, I'll marry you when we grow up."

Julia was horrified. "We can't get married, George Montgomery! Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva said that when cousins marry each other their children turn out cross-eyed and knock-kneed!"

"That very indelicate, Julia," Elizabeth reproved mildly. "Besides, don't you want me at your wedding?"

"I suppose," Julia agreed in a growl. "But I want it to be different."

Tavington grunted his approval. "That would be fine with me."

Elizabeth caught his eye, and she laid her hand affectionately on his.

"At least we can rest for a day or two, before we must pack and go back to Arcadia."

He nodded. "You and I are invited to dine with the Fergusons tomorrow."

Smiling, she replied, "How nice! We'll have another peep at their precious little Jamie. That child has the wisest eyes of any infant I've ever seen."

He gave her hand a squeeze. Only the two of them knew that a second little Tavington was on the way. Perhaps this would be the little Emma she wanted. If not this time, there was always the future.

The carriage drove on, as the horses trotted through the pleasant streets of Charlestown, on their way home.

-----

**Notes:** The song is _The Trooper and the Maid,_ and can be heard at a wonderful site called For midi versions of numerous historical songs and ballads, this is a great resource. Since they have the midi versions, you can hear the tune as well as read the words. The song itself has several more verses.

I am aware that in our timeline, Ferguson's Aunt Betty died in March of 1781. However, since she did not have to suffer the news of his death, her departure from this life was somewhat postponed in my alternate universe.

Fictional Kingston is on the same site as Louisville.

Thank you to my kind reviewers:

SlytherinDragoon: Thanks! I had to take care of the girls.

Zubeneschamali: Yes, the characters are different when not seen through the filter of the hero's point of view. I had some fun playing around with this. And I did like dealing with domestic life. Still it was fun getting back into the action with this chapter.

Carnivalglass: Thank you-it is fun to put the same characters in different situations!

Pigeonsfromhell: I'm glad I didn't kill her off either. Thank you for your support.

LCWA: And here is that last big fight, as requested. Hope you enjoyed it!

Ladymarytavington: Thanks!

Carolina Girl: Thank you for your thoughtful review. Yes, I wanted to get Amelia's situation all settled. Sally and Polly are far apart, but as you say—who knows about the future?

_"Would it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance….?"_

News: I have created a Yahoo group, Arsinoe's Library, for original and fanfiction discussion and for classic reading (lots of links). If you're interested, check out the URL on my author page.


	17. Epilogue: Eleven Years Later

Disclaimer: Never owned it, don't even want it.

Chapter 17: Epilogue—eleven years later 

New Orleans was taken. The entire Southern campaign had been a great success. The War of '93, as it was eventually to be known, saw the power of the French in the New World broken forever. The French Revolutionary army had only meant to distract the British from the invasion of Holland; but after the raids on Williamsburg and the French bombardment of Savannah, the British had hit back hard. The French navy was trapped and destroyed in Baltimore harbour, the Commonwealth had been administered a sound drubbing, both it and the Republic had had territory whittled away, and the British flag flew over all of French North America.

Major-General Sir William Tavington was reaping the rewards of his labours. After the attack on Savannah, he could not refuse the call to arms; and found himself almost immediately put in command of a brigade of cavalry, consisting of the British Legion (now reformed as a dragoons-only regiment), the 1st South Carolina hussars, and the Royal Georgian Dragoons. He had not traveled alone on his return to the army. George and Frank Montgomery had gone with him, for George was now a captain in the British Legion, and sixteen-year old Frank a lively young cornet. It would have been quite like old times had Lord Cornwallis led them; but Cornwallis had another command now. Lord Rawdon, now Earl of Moira, had come out from England with reinforcements, including the 33rd, which had served in America before. Tavington had always liked Rawdon. _No—Lord Moira_, he remembered_, I must get used to his new title._ The Irishman was an intelligent, brave, and pleasant commander, and from the first they worked well together.

The attack on New Orleans had come from three sides: The Royal Navy had done its part, shelling the city's defenses without mercy; from the east, as the British army swept across the Alabama and Mississippi territories; and from the north, as the Royal Kentucky Volunteers and the rest of General Lord Cornwallis' troops came down the Mississippi. Tavington had been with the eastern wing of the army, under Lord Moira, and had enjoyed his renewed military career. Being a general was _something_, after all. The Battle of New Orleans, in which tired but committed British and Colonial troops trounced the French was the crown of it all. The French forces in fact were not sure whom to fight for: their commander was a royalist who had been shocked and horrified at the news of King Louis' execution. Only Brennier's personal pride and military reputation caused him to resist.

They would have to spend some time in Louisiana, pacifying the population, and encouraging some new English settlement. Many of the locals were Acadians, whose families had been banished from Canada in 1755. They were sullen and resentful, but also uneasy about the new revolutionary government in Paris. After resting his troops, Cornwallis would be heading north, more slowly this time, and leaving garrisons along the river. Lord Moira was settling in for a long stay as military governor.

With the victory, and the withdrawal of the French from the Americas, Tavington had indulged Elizabeth's pleadings, and had allowed her to sail to New Orleans for a visit. She was luckily not carrying, for once, and she had so very few opportunities to travel. She came with Julia, and with their two eldest, young Will and Emma, and their ward, Lottie Wilkins. To her older daughters' despair, Charlotte Montgomery absolutely refused to allow them to do anythingso dangerous as sail in a ship. Jane and Mary consoled themselves with a visit to Sir Stephen and Lady DeLancey, and with flirting with the officers of the Charlestown garrison. The rest of the children remained at Arcadia with Charlotte and with their admirable governess, Miss Strickland.

Elizabeth was comfortably settled in, in a pretty Creole-style house large enough for their entourage. They weregiving a dinner tonight for a number of senior officers and some old friends. Moira would be there, and Cornwallis, and in addition, a young colonel who seemed quite struck with Julia.

Tavington sighed with frustration. Julia was twenty-three and unmarried, and had seemed little inclined for the state. She seemed to relish her life as an unattached belle: dancing, hunting, riding: enjoying all the pleasures of city and country. She was an affectionate aunt and a great favourite with Arcadia's children. Since the inheritance from the uncle in Jamaica, Edward Everleigh, in 1790, she had been pursued even more ardently than ever. A beauty, with forty thousand pounds! Elizabeth and he had wondered if Julia and George might not make a match after all, but they seemed to regard each other as brother and sister. Now, however, she had a serious beau. Tavington had carefully explained to Julia that the younger son of an impoverished Irish peer was not exactly a catch, but Julia seemed to like him. He was a good soldier, certainly: Moira had gone on at length about Lt. Colonel Wellesley's meticulous care in arranging supplies and caring for his troops. And he was a brilliant horseman, good enough that Tavington felt he was wasted leading a regiment of foot.

Julia's encouragement of the young Irishman caused Tavington to make further inquiries. Wellesley's brother, Lord Mornington, was a rising star in Parliament, and might be able to use his influence to advance his brother's fortunes. Otherwise, the Honourable Arthur Wellesley's income was not much more than his colonel's pay, and the fellow's own mother had described him as "fit only to be food for powder." His suit of a young lady at home, one of the Pakenhams, had been refused by the family due to his lack of income and prospects. Still, his conduct throughout the campaign had been irreproachable---and Julia seemed to like him.

Julia did like him. She told Tavington and Elizabeth so in terms that left no room for misunderstanding. They were sitting over the remains of breakfast, and the children had gone off to play. "He's clever—not in a scholarly way, but in a practical way. He's serious, too. You know his father was a famous amateur musician and squandered much of the family fortune with his concerts and his patronage. He encouraged Colonel Wellesley to learn music too, and at one time the Colonel played the violin quite well. But he says he's done with all that now. When he got his orders for America, he burned all his instruments."

"Oh, dear!" Elizabeth looked horrified. At the party when they first met, she had noticed that Colonel Wellesley had been much impressed by Julia's performance, singing and playing the pianoforte. Over the years, her talents had blossomed, and she had become an excellent musician. He had shown considerable knowledge and taste in praising her. But to burn an instrument!

Julia shrugged. "He's determined to be the best soldier he can be, and to not be distracted from that. During the voyage, he learned all he could about America. He's full of ambition, but he has a great deal of feeling, too. And the looks don't hurt."

Elizabeth exchanged a significant glance with Tavington. "Yes, dearest, he has a fine figure and a bright eye, but his nose—don't you find it a little—well---_large?"_

"His nose is splendid!" Julia's voice rose. "He looks like an eagle in profile! He's different. I don't know how to explain it. I feel very odd around him: I want to be with him all the time. It's very _peculiar_."

Tavington muffled his laugh into his glass. So Julia had at last fallen in love. It had taken her long enough. At least they had tastes in common, and Wellesley, like himself at that age, maintained a gentlemanly reputation. No rumours of drinking bouts, no gambling debts, no mistresses talked of—all in all, he had a good name. At least, if he was a fortune hunter, he was one of discrimination and good connections.

However, there was one great objection to him. He was in America only for the campaign. Plans were already in motion to ship out the 33rd and return them to England. Wellesley had no desire to remain in the Colonies. He was determined to pursue his career back at home. If a match were made, Julia would go to England with him, and who knew when they might meet again?

Tavington owed Pattie Ferguson a letter, and retired to the study to think in private. The room had a pretty ironwork balcony that overlooked the street. It was very like the place where he and DeLancey had lodged in Kingston, when they were sorting out the huge Jamaican inheritance from Edward Everleigh. DeLancey's knowledge of the law and of the West Indies had been useful, but he would certainly not have survived the adventure without Tavington's talent for violence. Luckily, he and DeLancey had been in accord about making provisions for Everleigh's children by his slaves. He could not have countenanced selling his wife's own kin. In fact, DeLancey had been no bad companion throughout the entire business. Tavington was glad enough at the inheritance: it was an agreeable thing to be extremely wealthy, and to know that his wife's sisters were splendidly provided for. They had returned to their wives' affectionate welcomes, and had agreed between themselves never to reveal some of the more frightful and sordid aspects of their journey. There were certain things in the world that sweet and refined women like Elizabeth and Amelia ought never to know of.

_New Orleans_

_October 13, 1793 _

_My dear Ferguson,_

_My regards to you, your fair lady, and to your Jamie, Annie, and little Pattie.__ Lest the latter wonder, Lady Tavington will be returning home next month with some presents for the young Fergusons. I enclose the children's letters with my own. Will was most particular that I respect the privacy of his correspondence with Jamie. I am instructed to beg your indulgence as well. He has assured me that it involves nothing as dangerous as last year's plan to explore the Sea Islands in a rowboat. He does permit me, however, to share with you the enclosed drawing of a pelican. It's quite good, I think, with hardly any paternal partiality. He evinces more and more of his grandfather's talent. _

_New Orleans__ is ours. The garrison was irresolute and ill-equipped, and after the bombardment, there was little resistance in the town. It is a splendid, but odd place: more like the West Indies than Charlestown or Savannah. Well for me that I polished my French before arriving here. It is French and Creole and African, a heady mixture. I take care that Elizabeth and Julia to do not go out unattended, for it will be some time before the local population is entirely resigned to the King's rule. The French territory is vast, possibly extending all the way to the Pacific; and will require official and methodical exploration. There is some talk of mounting a major expedition in a few years. Much depends on the progress of the war against the French. _

_No doubt you receive news of the horrors in that unhappy country before we do. The most recent intelligence was appalling enough: not content with overthrowing the legitimate government and murdering their lawful King, the rabble have descended to arresting and imprisoning women. It seems incredible in this modern age that a Queen, or indeed any lady, could so cruelly victimised. One hopes that the rebel states now will contemplate the fruits of unbridled liberty._

_To speak of more agreeable things, you will be pleased to know that the Royal South Carolina Rifles acquitted themselves with distinction. Lord Moira has mentioned in dispatches the power of their repeaters and the carnage they wrought. The Ferguson rifle will undoubtedly be the standard weapon in British rifle regiments within five years. I congratulate you, the inventor, and myself, the investor. Ferguson Arms has an assured future. _

_Lord Cornwallis' troops reached the territory well in time, and have been pacifying the French settlements along the Mississippi. He is the man for it, having his usual regard for the lives and properties of civilians. He has aged somewhat (as who amongst us has not?) in the intervening years, but is still a soldierly man. His great love for the Kentucky Colony informs all his conversation: a lesser man would be a bore. It has been very agreeable seeing some old comrades from the Legion and from the old American Volunteers. As for the younger comrades, George and Frank have proved sound young officers in every way. I know you did not care for their father, but the sons are better men. As I write this, George is leading a patrol out west of the city. The girls, especially Lottie, are quite worshipful of their cousins. It is both touching and amusing._

_Will, on the other hand, is a little jealous; but I do not want him to feel that his only option is the army. Moreover, I see no reason for him to wear a uniform before he has finished his education. I should have liked to have gone to university myself._

_Yes, Monroe is here, looking very fit. He and his horse farm have prospered. Mrs. Monroe is, by his report, as lovely as ever, and very much a leader of the colony's society (such as it is). He did not indicate, however, that there was any thought of a journey. It is an arduous matter, traveling from Kentucky. Even if she were to go upriver to Pennsylvania, she would still have to go overland to Philadelphia and have a sea voyage. And were she to come downriver to New Orleans, she would still have to sail to Charlestown. The journey by land, even with the road improvements, still requires over a month of constant travel, and would be extremely taxing for a mother with children. I wish it could be attempted, I confess, so I could see for myself if Sally Monroe is as beautiful as her parents claim._

_We are very much concerned that Julia will promise herself to Colonel Wellesley. Elizabeth dreads such a separation, as the fellow seems bound to carry her off with him. If he were more interested in a permanent appointment here, it would be a different matter. They are a handsome couple (despite his great beak of a nose). If it comes to it, we must give them our blessing. We shall miss Julia, but ought not to deny her choice. One never knows: Wellesley may well find himself back in America. Even after hamstringing the Commonwealth and the Republic as we have, the rebel states will remain a thorn in our side. _

_Take care of yourself, my dear friend. God grant that your former ills remain long at bay. I remain, sir, your obedient servant,_

_William Tavington_

_-----_

He returned early from headquarters, to dress for dinner, and visit with some guests who had been asked to come sooner than the rest. It would be pleasant to meet again with Colonel Monroe and his friend Captain Thomas Martin, for they were very nearly family.

No. Captain Martin, indeed, _was_ family. Elizabeth especially wished to introduce him to his young cousin, Charlotte Wilkins, whom they all called Lottie. They had never met, of course. Her mother, Thomas Martin's own dear Aunt Charlotte, had died in childbirth, leaving the little girl who bore her name. By a stroke of perverse ill luck, the child's doting father, who had survived every danger of the war, was dead two months later in a riding accident. A pleasant day, a high-fed thoroughbred, an uneven bit of ground beyond a hedge, and James Wilkins lay stretched out on the red earth, his neck broken. By his will, the orphan was given to the Tavingtons to raise, but not without some contention from Captain and Mrs. Benjamin Martin.

Elizabeth was still a little cross about the dispute, feeling somewhat ill-used at the abrupt decampment of their governess, Miss Temple, for the joys of marriage with Benjamin Martin. They had attended the wedding, and did and said all that was proper, but in private, Elizabeth was not pleased at the sudden reversion to herself of the care and education of eight children—with more coming all the time. After a few months, they had chanced upon their redoubtable Miss Strickland, a woman of good education and breeding, but beyond the age of marital threat. Elizabeth treated her as the precious resource she was, and the good lady had now been with them nearly ten years.

As to little Lottie Wilkins, heiress of both the Wilkins and Selton properties, Elizabeth felt her responsibility strongly, and more strongly still denied Captain Martin's claim to the child . "No blood kin at all—only related to her by marriage! And the child my own second cousin, once removed! And Harriet Temple—Mrs. Martin--thinking she can mother her, when she's nothing to her at all! The impertinence!" 

Tavington had calmed his wife, smoothed over the disagreement with Martin, and very soon the issue was moot: for Mrs. Martin presently had her own little Harriet to care for, and was too busy and happy to concern herself with the child of her husband's first wife's sister. The little girl was settled snugly into the nursery at Arcadia, growing up as a sister to Emma Tavington—almost a twin. Tavington had often reflected that 1783 had been a vintage year for daughters: for there were not only his own darling Emma, dear little Lottie, and Martin's Harriet; but Ferguson's own flame-haired Annie, and Amelia's eldest, the absurdly named Athena Carolina.

In the privacy of their bedchamber, Tavington and Elizabeth found never-ending diversion in the names Amelia conjured for her daughters. They would invent their own, dissolving into laughter over the prospects of names like Calliope Dryope Merope, Cleopatra Aegyptica, and their favourite, Regina Gloriosa Omnium. When the following girls actually were named Penelope Eudoxia, Artemisia Irene, and Thalia Callisto, the Tavingtons' secret hilarity was unbounded. Tavington had displayed not a flicker of amusement when standing godfather for the long-awaited DeLancey son, sturdily named Stephen after his father. Only Amelia appeared dissatisfied with the boy's Christian name, half-heartedly defending it for its Greek derivation. Another child was due two months ago, and they expected a letter any day about the birth.

Full of these thoughts, Tavington finished shaving, and was changing his shirt, when there was a knock on his dressing room door.

"If you're my wife, you can come in," he grunted, happy with the feel of clean linen.

Elizabeth stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, smiling like a sphinx. She was waving a letter tantalisingly, and had evidently already read it.

"What news?" he asked, searching through his cravats. She lounged on the daybed with a face full of mischief, watching him.

"If you can guess correctly, you shall have a kiss."

Swiftly, he was across the room, and pulled her up in his arms, growling, "So that's your game—keeping vital intelligence from the General. How shall I deal with such a wicked adventuress?" He nuzzled the side of her neck, and she began laughing, tumbling back on the daybed with him mostly on top of her.

"You shall deal with me by playing my game and earning kisses, Sir William." She ran the edge of the letter over his jaw and chin, teasing him.

"Hmm." Tavington said slowly. "It is from Amelia."

"Absolutely correct." She put an arm around his neck and kissed him softly.

"This is a nice game. What do I get if I win?"

"Make another guess and perhaps you'll find out."

"All right. You are smiling, so she is well and the child is well."

"You are my clever boy."

"Where is my kiss?"

"Here." The kiss lasted longer and Tavington reluctantly returned to the game.

"It is a girl."

A kiss followed immediately.

"Did they actually name her Regina?"

She pushed him off her, with a superior air. "No, General, you lose. You will never, never guess the ghastly name Amelia has foisted upon the poor child."

"All right, then, enlighten me."

"Hypatia," she pronounced lovingly, and Tavington groaned in horror. She added, "Hypatia Alexandria _Metis_."

"That's dreadful. Are you sure there isn't a way for me to win this game?"

"No_, I_ win this time, and I shall expect to collect my reward tonight; so don't let the Lords General sit over their wine after dinner too long. I must go tell Julia the news." With an arch smile, she slipped out of the room, and left Tavington to finish dressing.

He looked at his reflection in the shaving mirror. "Hypatia," he essayed, and then shuddered.

-----

Thomas Martin had taken a liking to New Orleans. It was the most exotic place he had ever visited. People in the streets spoke a foreign language, and the food was strange, but very good. The whole journey down the Ohio, and then down the Mississippi had been the most enjoyable adventure of his life. He had collected mementos and souvenirs along the way, and now in New Orleans, he would supplement them with some very fine gifts to take home to Dinah and the children.

He exchanged a smile with Duncan Monroe, his colonel and friend. Monroe missed his wife and daughters, of course, and was concerned about his horses back in Hanover County, but he too had been swept up in the great campaign. They visited the shops that afternoon, wondering at the new French fashions, and making bargains with suspicious, French-speaking shopkeepers. Monroe knew a little French, and did most of the talking, but it was wise to go together. The conquered population still eyed the British occupiers with fear and distrust, and seemed surprised at being paid for their goods. _They don't know how strict Lord Cornwallis and Lord Moira are about treating civilians fairly. But they will. I reckon they'll think themselves lucky after a few years. There won't be any guillotines in Louisiana!_

His neck was still sore, and wrapped carefully under his cravat. He had been gashed by a glancing bullet during the last battle. It had made a messy and alarming wound, but one that proved superficial. Still, he had lain awake a few nights, wondering what would have become of his family had the bullet struck even a quarter inch to the right. Five children, and another on the way when he left, and Dinah to care for the farm and the children and all. But here he was, alive and well, with only a scratched neck to show for all his dangers, and looking forward to an elegant dinner with his old commander, General Sir William Tavington.

"That's a pretty thing," he said, pointing out a painted porcelain figurine of a shepherd and shepherdess to Monroe. It would look nice on the mantel at home, and Dinah would treasure it.

Monroe nodded, and cautioned. "You'd have to wrap it and crate it if you want to get it back to Kentucky in one piece. I'd like to get Polly a whole set of Limoges dishes, but I'll wait until just before we leave. The longer I have it, the likelier it is to be broken." He paused, admiring some tableware decorated with flowers and gilt edging. "The jewelry isn't a such a problem. That's always nice and portable. I just have to get something that each of the girls will like, and avoid making one or the other of them jealous."

"Boys are easier," Thomas agreed. You could always give a boy a musket, or a rifle, or a pistol, or a sword, or a knife, and he'd be happy as long as he didn't kill himself; but girls expected different things. He always kept a weather eye of the quartermaster's goods, and had found a beautiful present for Dinah already: a set of silver sewing things, with thimble, and scissors, and all the other gew-gaws women used. His only daughter, Betsy, was seven years old, and already a woman in the making: she would be delighted with the necklace and the china-headed French doll he had found for her. The doll was beautifully dressed like a real French lady, and would show his womenfolk better than he could describe what ladies in France were wearing. Monroe had admired it, and was thinking about something of the sort for his own girls; but he would have to get four of them, even though his youngest would be too little to be allowed to play with it.

Thomas had always liked and admired Mrs. Monroe. Whatever she had been in the past, she was a charming lady, a kind friend to Dinah, and a generous and lavish hostess. She gave frequent dinners and the occasional ball. She had done a great deal in her way to make the new settlement a pleasant, civilised place. The Monroes had a fine house in Kingston, as well as their big place, Fair Meadows, out in the country. Kingston was growing all the time, but in a carefully planned way. Lord Cornwallis was justly proud of their little city in the wilderness. A boarding school had been founded, and Thomas thought he should send Ben and Bill in a year or two. Plans were even rumoured for a real college, but Thomas failed to see the sense in that for his boys. A few years at St. George's School would give the boys all the education they would need.

It was almost four. They quickened their pace and found the street, and saw the house, with the sentries outside. They were passed in, and the servant announced their arrival.

"Colonel Monroe! Captain Martin! How good of you to come!" Tavington had not changed much-- still lean and handsome, though greying at the temples. His general's splendour sat well on him. Thomas felt a pleasant rush of memory at the sight of him. Beside the general were his wife, Lady Tavington, and his sister-in-law, Miss Wilde. Lady Tavington was also not too much changed, an attractive, elegant woman, though grown a little matronly. It was the young lady, Miss Wilde, who made him keenly aware of the passage of time. He remembered her as a pert little girl, given to saying what she liked. She was now a beautiful young woman, fashionably and becomingly dressed, with a self-assured air. She seconded her sister's well-bred greeting, but appeared to be waiting to see someone else. Thomas wondered briefly what had become of her sister Amelia, the one he had liked. Father had written years ago, telling of her magnificent wedding to a wealthy judge. He never regretted the past, but he still thought of her from time to time. This confident young lady was not much like her demure sister. Thomas felt a little intimidated.

Lady Tavington had called the children down to be introduced. Smiling at Thomas, she brought forward a pretty little girl of aboutten or so.

"Captain Martin, allow me to present your cousin Charlotte Wilkins. Lottie, dear, this is Captain Thomas Martin, your mamma's nephew."

Thomas looked the little girl over searchingly. "Hello, Lottie," he said. The child curtseyed, and murmured a greeting.He was not sure what he had expected—perhaps someone like Aunt Charlotte in miniature. This child was a stranger. She had dark and curling brown hair, for one thing, instead of Aunt Charlotte's magnificent golden locks. As he looked closer, he saw that she would be tall someday, like his aunt, though like her father, the good Captain Wilkins. Maybe too tall. She was quite pretty, and she gave him a shy smile that recalled his aunt to him a little. In the lines of her face he thought he saw a little more of her father. _Not much Putnam: more Everleigh and Wilkins_, he decided.

Duncan Monroe seemed to think the same. He gave the girl a friendly nod, and remarked to Thomas, "I think she favours her father."

"Did you know my father, sir?" asked the child in a small, sweet voice.

"Indeed I did, " answered Monroe with a warm smile. He was accustomed to little girls, and a dab hand at charming them. "He was a fine gentleman and a brave man."

"That's what Sir William says, sir. I thank you."

Tavington called Monroe away, to meet Will and Emma and discuss Monroe's girls in Kentucky.

Lottie was studying her strange cousin in her turn. She blushed and told him, "I am happy to meet you, Cousin Thomas."

"And I'm pleased to meet you, Lottie. I've been away from my family a long time, and it's good to see some of it. I wish my children were here to meet you too." He asked Lady Tavington. "Have you seen my father lately?"

"Indeed we have," she answered. "We saw him in Charlestown only last June. He was with Mrs. Martin and the girls to buy Miss Martin's wedding clothes."

"I can't believe Susan is married!" Thomas laughed, and added, "and that I have a sister I've never met." He asked Lottie, "Do you know my sister Harriet?"

"Oh, yes!" Lottie assured him eagerly. "I've visited with UncleMartin often, and Harriet and I are good friends. Lady deLancey gave a party for her daughters, and Emma and I went, and Harriet was there too."

Lady Tavington added more calmly. "Harriet is a nice girl, and becoming very accomplished. Mrs. Martin is a well-educated woman herself. But," she smiled, "Harriet _looks_ a great deal like your father. She has the same blue eyes."

Thomas confessed, "I do miss my family. Margaret and her husband, the lawyer, are thinking about coming out to Kentucky. My brother Sam too. I keep telling them there's plenty of room for all them. I don't suppose I'll ever get Father away from Fresh Water." 

"I daresay not," agreed Lady Tavington. "_Some _of us think there's no place in the world like South Carolina!"

-----

Sheathed in creamy brocade, the dining room walls reflected the golden light of many candles. The guests seemed pleased with the dinner, and mellow with it. The two earls displayed their most polished behaviour, in deference to the welcome company of ladies. Other officers had come out of the desire for a pleasant meal at Sir William's expense. Others, old comrades and connections like Monroe and Martin, made the room seem like home. Colonel Wellesley glowed with charm, happy to be sitting beside Julia. Tavington, during a lull in his conversation with Moira, overheard them talking together.

"You've lived in France!"

"Yes, I went to school there."

"Really? I thought all Englishman went to Oxford or Cambridge."

He laughed, a little sourly.

"Not the penniless sons of the Irish peerage. Even my elder brother Richard, a fine scholar, could not stay at Oxford to finish his degree, but had to find employment. As for me, I was too poor a student of Latin and Greek for my mother to waste money on university for me. The most she would do for me after Eton is send me to the Royal Academy of Equitation in Angers for a year. I should have liked to have gone to university, but Angers was a fine place: Monsieur and Madame de Pignerolle were the kindest and best of people, and what they taught me of French, manners, riding, and swordsmanship will be of use to me all my life."

Julia forgot herself so far as to lay her hand on his, and say, low and fierce, "Then I'm glad you went there." Blushing, she removed her hand and glanced around, to see if anyone had noticed her. Tavington kindly looked away.

After a moment, Wellesley went on, "I worry about them. I worry about all my friends in France. It seems that everything decent is under attack. I did not choose to be a soldier, but it seems that Fate chose well for me. There's nothing more important than fighting for order and civilisation, and for everything that makes life worth living."

"How true!" Julia agreed feelingly. "I shall never forget the horror of the time our home was—"

Moira remarked on the difficulties they were having quieting the Acadians further west, and Tavington had to attend to him; but he saw Julia and Wellesley glance at him briefly, and he supposed she was telling her admirer the story of how Tavington had rescued them from the rebels. He looked down the table at Elizabeth, as she genteelly flattered Lord Cornwallis. She sensed his gaze, and smiled at him. He smiled back, treasuring the memory of that first meeting.

Monroe whispered to Thomas. "Young Miss Wilde has certainly grown up a beauty."

Thomas shrugged, and answered low, "I suppose. She's one too many for me, though."

Lady Tavington caught her sister's eye, and the ladies withdrew. The soldiers, old and young, remained to sit over their wine and exchange unlikely stories and discreet boasts. Tavington, mindful of Elizabeth's promise, was determined not to keep the ladies waiting long. Half an hour for a glass or two, and then they would join the ladies in the drawing room for tea.

Lord Cornwallis remarked to Tavington, "I had not told you before, Sir William, how much I admired the new volume of your father-in-law's paintings that I received a few years ago. It must have been an effort to assemble the works and see the book through to publication."

There were some murmurs of assent from a few of the guests. Tavington suspected that the rest would have been more interested in a book about shooting birds than one describing them. "Thank you, my lord," he replied. "It was worth the trouble for me. And I had the opportunity to visit England again. It was a effort, certainly, but one that I enjoyed."

In fact, the book had been a pleasure from beginning to end. It had seemed a wicked waste to let the paintings John Wilde had completed just before the war continue unknown. Tavington had a certain filial piety toward his deceased father-in-law. Had he never heard of John Wilde, he would never have taken the time on a hot day in 1780 to visit Arcadia. He might never have had a home, or Elizabeth to love. In a way, he owed John Wilde his present happiness, and regarded the publication of the second volume of _Flora and Fauna of the_ _Carolina Colonies_ as an offering to the household gods, as it were.

The book had also put him in the public eye in London. He wondered if the knighthood would have come so soon, or at all, if he had not been in London for the mighty to notice. He had been invited to Court; and while he regretted that Elizabeth was not here to share the experience, it was a welcome honour. He had always wished for public recognition, and the title was something he could give Elizabeth, who had contributed the bulk of their material wealth to their marriage. Besides, he had grown tired of Amelia, Lady DeLancey, taking precedence of her sister. Now he balanced their fortunes, and returned the elder sister to the rights of seniority.

Some of his fellow officers managed considerably more than one or two glasses of wine in the half-hour Tavington had allotted. Several were dozy and red-faced by the time they rejoined the ladies. A few of these said their farewells, and took themselves off to their beds; or at least, someone's bed. The rest gathered to chat and drink tea, and some were in the mood for music. Colonel Wellesley urged Julia courteously to entertain them. She bit her lip thoughtfully, and then flashed him a smile. She sat at the pianoforte, arranging the creamy satin of her gown around her. Wellesley saw to her music and her candles, hovering over her to such a degree that Tavington was ready to intervene. Elizabeth touched his hand, with a little shake of her head. He subsided into his chair, and only scowled a little as Wellesley sat by Julia and carefully turned her pages. 

Tonight there were no fashionable tunes, no Italian arias, no foreign conceits. In her lovely soprano, she gave them a sweet old English song:

_"Over the mountains and over the waves; _

_Under the fountains and under the graves;_

_Under floods that are deepest, which Neptune obey;_

_Over rocks that are steepest, _

_Love will find out the way._

_--_

_"Some think to lose him by having him confin'd;_

_Some do suppose him, poor thing, to be blind;_

_But if ne'er so close you wall him, do the best that you may,_

_Blind Love, if so ye call him,_

_Soon will find out the way._

_--_

_"You may train the eagle to stoop to your fist;_

_You may inveigle the Phoenix of the East;_

_The lioness, you may move her to give o'er her prey;_

_But you'll ne'er stop a lover:_

_He will find out the way."_

-----

The bells of St. Louis Cathedral began tolling the hour. It was midnight, and the revels now were ended. The two earls had prudently retired, each to his own splendid lodgings. Wellesley had bid Julia areluctant goodnight; and the hosts and various other guests had dispersed.

It was a cool and misty night. Lieutenant Colonel the Honourable Arthur Wellesley paused, breathing in the night-blooming jasmine as he walked to his billet, and thinking tenderly of Julia. His mind was made up, and this time he would not be denied.

The bell tolled on. Upstairs, the candles in Julia's bedchamber were still alight. She sat in a little gilt chair, in a quiet reverie over a map spread out on her dressing table. The world was hers, and anything was possible.

In the sanctity of their bedchamber, Elizabeth claimed her forfeit from Tavington in her preferred positions. She smiled at the sound of the bells, and whispered in her husband's ear:

_"For we have heard the chimes at midnight----"_

Tavington did not register the whisper or the bells, too enraptured for any lesser concerns.

Duncan Monroe heard the bells as he climbed the staircase to his rooms. He thought of his beloved wife and daughter, of his beautiful horses, and of his long absence. He would return home, never to leavethem again.

Other clocks struck the hour, near and far.

In her pleasant farmhouse in Kentucky, Dinah Martin lay asleep, stirring slightly as the treasured clock in her sitting room tolled twelve.

In Kingston, Polly Monroe lay awake, wondering if the baby might be coming down with the measles. . She wondered where Duncan was, and when he would come home, and_ if_ he would come home. Downstairs, the hall clock chimed musically, and the house made little creaking sounds in the dark. Polly resolutely shut her eyes again, refusing to be be frightened by a noise or two.

In Charlestown, Patrick Ferguson awakened to the familiar ache in his arm. Sally awoke beside him, and nestled closer, expertly stroking the pain away.

In another street in Charlestown, Amelia DeLancey was very much enjoying the first ball she had attended since her confinement. It was a small affair—just some close friends-- but she was aware that she looked very much her old self. And what a delightful time the Montgomery girls were having! She must get them good husbands, since Elizabeth was too busy traipsing off to Louisiana to do it. The clock showed the hour, but could not be heard for the sound of flutes and violins.

At the polished table at Fresh Water, Ben Martin heard the hour strike, as he sat over a letter he was writing to Gabriel. It was hard never to see children of his again. He had never seen Gabriel's daughter, Liberty, far away in Maryland. He had never seen any of Thomas' growing brood, far away in Kentucky. Sometimes the road beckoned, but he could not leave Harriet and their daughter. His wifeand Nathan were carefully civil to one another, but Ben could have no doubt what would happen at his death. Well, he must see to it that his second family was provided for, and that he did not die anytime soon. He wondered where Thomas was now, and if he were back in the army, fighting the French.

And in New Orleans, Thomas looked out the window, across to the cathedral. It was the biggest church he had ever seen. He would have so much to tell Dinah and the children. He had regretted leaving them, but it was for sights like this he had become a soldier. As the sound of the last stroke rang out over the square below, he imagined his life if he had never joined the Green Dragoons: a quiet sort of life at Fresh Water, raising crops and cattle, never knowing the limits of human experience. The army had been good to him. It had taken him far and wide, and shown him places he could not have imagined. It had given him love, land, and his share of honour. If it had taken its price in blood and sweat, that was only fitting.

_The brave young captain raised his hand in salute—_

_"God Save the King!"_

-----

**Notes: The story is complete. Thank you for reading!**

I greatly admire the Duke of Wellington, and regret the unhappy marriage with Kitty Pakenham he was socially bullied into on his return from India. Her family had turned him down years before, but after he came back years later from the Indian campaign, with a knighthood and a fortune, they were eager to rope him in. In my timeline, he still goes to India and makes a great reputation there, but he did not go alone, and he and Julia were delightfully companionable. I wanted Julia to marry someone quite wonderful, and the dates fit. He was refused by Kitty Pakenham in early 1793, and he did burn his violins shortly thereafter. As to his time in Angers, Lady Longford, in her admirable _Wellington: The Years of the Sword_, has quite convinced me what an impact his experiences there had on the impressionable boy.

In October, Tavington would not have heard about the September Massacres in France, nor about the execution of Marie Antoinette three days after he wrote his letter to Patrick Ferguson. As an 18th century British gentleman, he would have found the idea of trying and executing a lady for political crimes absolutely inconceivable.

Julia's song is the first and last two verses of _"Love will find out the way,"_ anonymous from the time of Elizabeth I, but a favourite of young ladies for centuries after.

A final thank you to my Loyal reviewers:

Zubeneschamali: Some questions can be answered after 13 years, and some can't! It's not part of my story, but yes, David McKay did find a biddable young woman with a little money, and decidedly ruled the roost. No, Polly and Sally never met again: their life-paths had diverged too far. They wrote, of course, but visiting was not feasible. Ferguson's health was always touchy, and he died in 1799. Sally and children went to live in Scotland at the request of his family, since her elder son was his uncle's heir. ( Young James Ferguson and young Will Tavington were reunited in the Peninsular campaign, and had some hair-raising adventures there.) Thomas' sister Margaret and brother Sam eventually did go out to Kentucky, seeking opportunity. Nathan ended up with Fresh Water, and young William became a tobacco merchant in Charlestown. George Montgomery had a distinguished military career, and eventually was Colonel of the British Legion. He married his much younger cousin Lottie Wilkins, and they made a happy home at Selton House. DeLancey died in1804, leaving Amelia a widow at the relatively young age of 39. She never remarried, and kept her husband's room exactly as he had left it, as a monument to their marriage. She was a queen of Charlestown society (and note—it stayed "Charlestown") until her death at the age of 81. Her son, the second Sir Stephen deLancey, was royal governor of South Carolina. Elizabeth still died in October 1803 of ovarian cancer, just as she did in our timeline. It was her medical destiny, if nothing else had killed her off first. Tavingtonwas created Viscount Camden in 1808, and had active commissions in the army as late as 1815. He was the same age as Field Marshal Bluecher at Waterloo. The wounds he sustained eventually killed him three years later. He no longer wanted to live at Arcadia after Elizabeth's death, and his family were for the most part in England or in the army in Europe due to the war with France. Also, he wanted to be with Julia and her family, though he spent more time with her husband than he did with Julia.After his father's death, the second Lord Camden returned to Arcadia with his Spanish bride, and they lived happily ever after. Julia had many adventures in India, Portugal, Spain, and France. As Duchess of Wellington she traveled all over Europe with her husband. But that is another story, and one I shall never write. 

Pigeonsfromhell: Glad you liked Daniel Boone. It was fun to incorporate historical characters.

LCWA: Ah, the fight fan! Glad you enjoyed it. If you've ever seen _Seven Samurai_, you might recognise the inspiration (the raid on the bandits' "castle.")

Slytherin Dragoon: I thought you might got a chuckle from the song. It was the naughtiest and most appropriate I could find on the contemplator site. Thanks for your support.

Ladymarytavington: No, this is the absolute end. Thanks for sticking with me and reviewing.

Richard: Thank you for reviewing my story.

Carolina Girl: Thank you for your many kind reviews. I do like writing about Tavington, but I might take a break for awhile. Still, he's a great character, and he's very clear in my imagination. I'm glad you like the way I present him. He was actually a very good father, in the 18th century style, since he was always very conscious of his own father's faults. Eventually there were seven children in all, not counting the very dangerous miscarriage Elizabeth suffered in 1787. Oddly enough, his daughter Emma married the very same Lord Greystoke she married in the original timeline. That, too, was destiny.

Carnival glass: Thanks! I love my characters, too. Thanks for reviewing.


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